#octopath traveler 2 fanfiction

[baronaliswritingcorner]

Mutual Senses (Octopath Traveler II, Agnea/Hikari)

AO3 Link

Simple and rustic though it may be, the sleepy senses of Cropdale were anything but ordinary. The sweet fragrance of sunflowers and morning glories, wafting about and tickling one’s nostrils. The glistening dew of its prized produce, begging for a taste. The sound of giggling children and yelping dogs, promising another uneventful day. The delicate grass crunching beneath one’s feet, the bountiful earth swelling beneath dirt-caked footwear. The breathtaking sight of its glowing fireflies, dancing their nightly waltz amongst the trees.

All this and more buoyed their stolen moments together – found in the hidden meadow just outside the village. The flowery scent of her hair mixed amid the smell of foreign sands laced within his regal garments. His warm smile beheld in her big blue eyes wide as the sky. The bells of her laughter mingling with the rumbling of his chuckling throat. The strength of his grip clutching close her silk-soft frame.

The taste of each other’s lips, joined together in kiss after kiss.  

It’d become routine, these trysts of theirs. As they regularly stole each other away from their duties -- her, pursuing the glitz and glamour of stardom; him, reigning over a reborn kingdom – they spent these treasured respites doing nothing but indulging upon the other. Talking. Singing. Laughing. Playing. Dancing. Observing. Embracing.

It was all wonderful, simply too much, yet just enough for one dark thought to invade their paradise – stretching across the twilit rays of the setting sun until it grew unavoidable.

“Hikari,” Agnea dared to whisper, “do you think this’ll last forever?”

The fingers threading through auburn locks ceased in their movement, and when they suddenly clutched her head – nestled against his shoulder – did she know he’d thought the same.

But she met his golden eyes then, as firm and arresting as they ever were – melting the worries festering beneath her bubbly exterior, just as they’d done over and over in their journey.  

“It doesn’t matter,” said Hikari, his thumb tracing the soft curve of her bottom lip, “because I have you, Agnea Bristarni.” He leaned down to kiss the shell of her ear. “And you, me.”

“O-oh! Hikari!” giggled Agnea as he continued kissing down her jaw, indulging upon the sweet flavor of her skin.  

In this moment right here, right now, in this secret meadow of theirs, they had as long as they needed – for here, there was only Agnea Bristarni, singing promises of tomorrow as Hikari rested upon her lap; for here, there was only Hikari Ku, the steady heartbeat beating beneath his strong chest that lulled Agnea into still reverie.

Within the confines of calculations and deductions their companions adhered to, “how long could this last” had no logical answer – but as their lips came together, they knew they had their answer.

Because it was love that brought them together; again and again, without fail. Love that persisted even within the rigors of their responsibilities. Love that made promises true in treasured touches, silly sounds, sweet smells, tender tastes and spellbinding sights. Pure, passionate, overflowing, idyllic, perfect love.

----------

In the interest of upping my writing output, I've embarked on a short-form writing venture that I'm hoping will regularly bear fruit. Took a little too long to materialize for my tastes, but at any rate, you've witnessed the first step of this undertaking.

It's a wonder just how *alive* HD-2D is in spite of itself -- which I suppose is the goal -- so you could say my theme here was illustrating that juxtaposition in written form. (Truth be told, this originally gestated as a bigger idea regarding Agnea and Hikari's respective stations as commoner/royalty -- perhaps that'll come into the world one day?)

I can't promise they'll be as fluffy as this, but here's to more Agkari in the future! #OctopathTraveler2 #AgneaBristarni #HikariKu

[ardentrhyme]

(In which Osvald and Temenos arrive in New Delsta, and Throné joins the party.)

[dappledwrites]

haven’t recruited everyone yet but. i might have favourites.

[fairyring]

When you find Temenos’ AO3 account

Bonus under the cut if you finished Castti’s Chapter 3:

[cremeriie]

small world (or so it seems)

Osvald truly did not care much about the state of his hair, or any other so-called vanities, really. Unless it seriously impeded his work, the way he looked was simply not important.

Agnea thought otherwise.

"Seriously Professor, it can't be comfortable keeping it all knotted up like that."

"Yeah! You hair looks as bad as mine after a chase in the woods!"

Ochette only caught the tail end of Osvald's sharp stare as she bounded out of the Inn, likely to find something to eat. This left only Agnea as the remaining nuisance.

"Just let me brush it out, please? You can still read while I do it, you don't even have to move."

He was about to deny her, for good that time, but he stopped short at the pleading look in her eyes. Suddenly, his chest ached in a painfully familiar way.

He never could say no to such an earnest face. Not when it reminded him so much of life before the fire.

"Fine."

"Really? Oh thank you Osvald, I'll be right back with my brush!"

She almost tripped rushing up the stairs, grasping clumsily at her skirt as she went. She really was so young compared to the rest of their group and Osvald wondered, not for the first time, if letting her join their travels was a good idea. At the very least, she held her own in a fight fairly well, and she seemed to pick up on the basic wind magic he had taught her quite quickly.

"Oops, sorry about that ma'am! Whew. Alright Professor, let's see what we're working with here."

She softly pulled all of the unkempt strands back towards her to get a better look. Agnea had a usually irritable habit of humming when she was concentrating, but Osvald oddly found the sound less troublesome that night. After a while she dropped the hair and made a 'hmph'-ing noise.

"Your diagnosis?"

"Pretty terrible. But nothing I cant fix with a little hard work. Um, it may hurt a bit, though."

He brushed off the concern with a wave of his hand, to which Agnea shrugged as if to say 'alright then,' and began her attack on the knots. she started at the bottom, which was relatively tidy all things considered. When pain never occurred Osvald turned his attention back to his book and began reading once again.

For a short while the room was filled only with the quiet sounds of humming, turning pages, and brushing. It was almost peaceful, until...

Snag. His head quickly whipped back and into place.

He blinked.

Snag. Again, his vision was pulled away from the pages.

Snag!

"Agnea."

"Sorry, sorry! It's just such rat's nest back here. My mother would be furious if she saw this mess."

"Hm. Did she often brush your hair?"

"Oh yes, all the time when I was small,' a sad, faraway smile fell onto her face, "She always said how lucky I was to have thick hair, and lots of it too. I bet she'd say the same about you."

"I would get rid of it all if I could but..." He trailed off.

"But?"

"My wife. She...liked it."

Agnea could tell from the clipped response that it was not a subject to be pushed further. They slipped back into silence. At the thought of her mother, she was reminded of one of the songs she used to sing when brushing her daughter's hair. The words spilled from her lips.

"O, Lady of Grace, bless me with poise/ With which I may charm my sweet love/ O, Lady of Grace, bless me with voice/ With which I may call my sweet love..."

At first, the lyrics breezed past Osvald's ears disinterestedly. Agnea was always singing to herself, he couldn't possibly keep up with every song. However, once the last line hit the air his lungs abruptly seized, wind violently squeezed out out them. Voice croaking, he turned slightly to look at the girl.

"How...how do you know that song?"

"Hm? Oh, it's a silly old love song my mother wrote. Apparently it was very favourable with young ladies in all the places she visited. Do you maybe know it? I bet she was still traveling around the time you were younger."

"Rita, she--I remember her singing it. She said she learned it from a woman visiting town..."

"Wow. I wonder if it was mom she heard that day?"

"Quite possibly."

"Huh...and now, all these years later, here we are, together...it must be fate."

"If one is to believe in such a thing."

Osvald swallowed thickly. His body was stiff, and he was trying desperately to remain composed. It was not the time to fall apart. For Aelfric's sake, he hadn't even had a drink that evening.

Agnea stopped, noticing the shake in his jaw from how hard he was clenching it. Her movements stilled. Hesitantly, she wound her arms around Osvald's neck. She gently squeezed, before murmuring into his hair.

"Whether it's fate or not, I'm happy that we met."

She quickly untangled herself from his body and stepped back, clapping her hands decisively.

"Um, we're all done! I bet it feels a whole lot better, even if you won't admit it. Maybe next time I can convince you to let me braid it."

Osvald let out a shuddering breath and cleared his throat.

"Certainly not."

Her laugh twinkled across the room, "Oh, we'll see! But it'll have to be later, because I am quite tired after all of that hard labour. Goodnight Professor!"

"Goodnight, and...thank you."

Agnea beamed brightly before climbing the stairs to her room.

He ran his fingers through his hair and was surprised at the lack of resistance. Small and witnessed only by himself, he smiled.

Osvald knew that the pain in his chest might never fully go away, but that night he felt it ease, just a little bit.

[moresrush]

Title: Distractions. (Ao3 link.) Fandom: Octopath Traveler 2. Pairing: Osvald/Partitio. Word Count: 576. Warnings: None. Summary: In which reading isn't as important as something else.

A lot changes in five years. Anyone can stop and realize if they look back at themselves — at the person they were, before those years passed, but for Osvald it becomes the most apparent when he observes the world around him. Specifically, books. From the moment he was able to actually feel his fingers again, he found them itching for the familiar sensation of paper beneath them. Frigit Isle didn’t contain nearly enough knowledge; the books that ended up there were often in various states of disrepair. Pages missing, ink faded — and worse: information outdated.

The mainland offers him a much-needed change from such a disappointing collection.

There are plenty of scholars whose works he had wished to get his hands on before Harvey’s betrayal — and plenty more, now, who have found new things to make him ponder about on his search for answers. It’s almost familiar, being able to sit by candlelight and pour over the scribblings of others, and yet even with a new academic journal in his hand he can’t help but experience something entirely new.

Distraction. Rather: a distraction that he doesn’t mind — one that he prefers. A comfort he hadn’t expected.

Partitio acts as this distraction a lot of the time; since their meeting, he has proven capable of being an absolutely too-energetic chatterbox, but Osvald finds the younger man’s silence to be what keeps making him read the same paragraph over and over again.

Snuggled up to his side, the merchant has been asleep for the better part of an hour now — expression blissful and truly content. Joining Osvald in bed had been wordless but his cold hands had done enough to give him away; golden laughter only muted because of the cold so common in The Winterlands. The days are shorter and when the sun drops the temperatures eagerly follow — which oftentimes puts Partitio into a clingy mood. At first, this was understandable for survival … but there are nights like this one, nights where Osvald forgets what he is reading because he keeps focusing on things about Partitio instead.

The way his breathing is just shy of a snore. The way his hair falls over his face without his hat to push it back. The way his expression changes — brows slightly knit before relaxing again.

Rather than care about things on paper, Osvald V. Vanstein finds himself curious about the dreams of another. The scholar knows too well that when his own eyes close, he is met with terror and guilt — with pain, and yet when Partitio sleeps it is always as if he hasn’t a single thing to worry about. Osvald wonders, idle, book lowering away from where he can actually see letters … if this has anything to do with him. With them — whatever this is.

Osvald has specifically requested that they not overanalyze, that they avoid putting names to anything — and Partitio has respected it with every one of his other wishes. The merchant is patient, adoring with expectations or frustration, and in the middle of the night in The Winterlands Osvald shifts to pull him a little closer as his mind does circles around more and more unknowns.

A lot changes in five years. Anyone can stop and realize if they look back at themselves — at the person they were, before those years passed, but for Osvald it starts to become the most apparent when he observes who it is he wants to be.

[roaldseth]

“It was a different story to each person Z'aanta told it to, and even then it was not a sure thing of staying the same for any consecutive retellings[. ...] The hunt was not even one commissioned by the Order, and yet it still existed amongst it in its records, [...] a completely different tale than the one from the master hunter’s mouth despite it chronicling the exact same events.”

【 Full Wage 】 an Octopath Traveler fanfic

Z'aanta | Rated M | 11,065 words, 3/3 Chapters

COMPLETED

Please mind full tags on AO3. Prologue - Story - Epilogue format

Fic linked below ↓

[broomballkraken]

Title: Old Habits Die Hard

Fandom: Octopath Traveler 2

Pairing: Throné/Rai Mei

Word count: 1749

Warnings: None

Summary: Throné travels to Ku to attend Hikari’s coronation, but she is quickly reminded how much she hates large crowds. As she retreats from the festivities for some fresh air, she finds that she isn’t the only one trying to escape from something…

Written for Octopath Femslash Week 2024 Day 1, Prompt: First Meeting

Even after she had gained her freedom and left behind her life of thievery, Throné still hated large crowds. Too many people making noise and distracted by whatever festivities were happening made for prime public assassination conditions. Yet, she had traveled to Ku nonetheless, to attend the most important event in all of Solistia: the coronation of the new King of Ku, Hikari.

It had been an impressive ceremony, with people from both the Eastern and Western continents in attendance. The cheers of joy and mirth from the crowd celebrating the start of a new era of peace were deafening, but Throné still found her right hand hovering over her thigh every now and then as if her hidden dagger was still there, ready and willing to take the life of a potential threat. The habit irritated her, and was a grim reminder of the horrible life that she had thankfully managed to escape.

Luckily, the coronation came and went without issue, and Throné currently found herself in Castle Ku’s grand ballroom, hoping that she didn’t look as uncomfortable as she felt. The possibility of an assassin lurking about still loomed over her, and even though Throné knew that there was no danger, she still couldn’t shake her feelings of unease.

“Ah, Throné! I’m glad you could make it.”

Pushing herself off of the pillar that she had been leaning against, Throné managed a small smile when Hikari placed a hand on her arm before pulling her into a gentle hug.

“Yeah, me too. Congratulations, Your Majesty,” Throné teased, and she chuckled when his cheeks flushed pink.

“I wonder if I’ll ever get used to being called that...Did you see the others yet?”

Throné nodded. The rest of their former traveling companions had also made the trip, and she had spoken briefly to each of them to catch up: Osvald and Partitio had moved to Clockbank together, and Throné was happy to hear that Elena’s memories were slowly returning; Ochette was as peppy and crazy about meat as ever, and Castti had updated everyone on how the recruiting for the revived Eir’s Apothecaries was going; Temenos had become the new pontiff - in spite of his constant habit of openly criticizing the gods - and Agnea had just come off of her first dance tour of Solistia.

“What about you?” Throné smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Did you ask Agnea to save you a dance yet?”

Hikari brought a fist to his face and cleared his throat, and his beet-red cheeks told Throné all that she needed to know. “Ah, I - ahem - do believe that someone is calling for me. Enjoy yourself, Throné.”

“Yeah, I’ll try...” Throné trailed off as she watched Hikari head off in Benkei’s direction. Her face fell as the stuffy warmth of the ballroom and noise of the partygoers started to overwhelm her, so she made good use of her stealth skills and snuck outside without anyone noticing.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Throné closed her eyes, letting the cool night breeze wash over her face. She braced her hands against the railing while gazing out at the garden below her, and she was amazed at how many different plants could grow in this harsh desert environment.

The sounds of quick, heavy footfalls hit Throné’s ears, and her hand snapped to her thigh as she spun around. Her eyes narrowed when a woman rushed past her, and she pressed a finger against her lips when she caught Throné’s eye before concealing herself behind a large hedge.

“Hmp, now just where did she run off to?”

Throné’s brow furrowed when a haughty man stumbled into her tranquil refuge, and she crossed her arms over her chest, her lips pursing when the man gave her a skeevy once-over.

“Oh-ho! What ever is a beauty like you doing all by yourself out here, hm?” he said, wagging his eyebrows as he slowly swiped his tongue over his lips. Throné almost gagged as the taste of bile rose up in her throat; she completely understood why that woman wanted to get the hell away from this cretin.

Eyes narrowing into a glare, Throné bared her teeth at the man and her right hand twitched against her thigh. She didn’t have a dagger on her at the moment, but she wouldn’t need one to incapacitate this kind of lowlife, if it came to that.

“Get lost. Now.”

The command came out as a low growl, and the way that the man immediately deflated before turning tail, tripping over himself to get away from her made Throné roll her eyes. Shaking her head, she turned back to the hedge when she heard a long sigh of relief.

“Gods, I thought I’d never get rid of him...” the woman mumbled as she shook the leaves out of her braided, sandy blonde hair after she had left her hiding place. She gave Throné a small smile when her icy-blue eyes moved up to lock with hers.

“Thanks for the help. I would have knocked him out myself, but I didn’t want to cause any trouble for Hikari...”

Throné gave the woman a once-over; she certainly looked like she could have taught that creep a hard and painful lesson. Her impressive arm muscles were clearly on display due to the sleeveless dress that she wore, and she was a bit taller than Throné, which was something that she did not come across too often.

“I’d like to have seen that. Would’ve made things a bit more exciting around here, anyway.”

The woman laughed at that, and she rubbed at her chin as she studied Throné’s face. “You are...one of Hikari’s friends, right? Who aided him in his quest to defeat Mugen?”

“Yes. I’m Throné.”

“Rai Mei.” She held out her hand, and Throné took it, giving it a firm shake. “Thank you for supporting him. I…regret not being at his side as well.”

That name was very familiar, and it didn’t take long for Throné to remember exactly where she had heard it. It was in Stormhail, and she was one of the friends that Hikari was trying to track down to help take back Ku from his brother. Throné hadn’t been there for their meeting, as she had been preoccupied with consoling a distraught Temenos after the horrific loss that he had experienced.

“So, what brings you out here, Throné?” Rai Mei’s question pulled Throné from her thoughts, and she shrugged as she leaned back against the railing.

“I’m...not really a fan of huge gatherings like this,” she said with a wave of her hand, and Rai let out a long sigh and nodded.

“It’s the same for me. I don’t know how Hikari can stand all of the attention...”

Throné chuckled and crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s a natural born leader, that’s for sure.”

“He really is,” Rai said with a smile, and Throné was given pause at how beautiful it was, “I am truly blessed to call him my king, and my friend.” Throné felt her face start to heat up, and she quickly turned her attention back to the garden.

Rai followed her gaze, and her smile grew wider. “Oh, are you interested in desert plants, Throné? I can tell you about some of them, if you’d like.”

“Sure.”

As Throné listened to Rai’s explanation of the plants, she couldn’t help but feel uneasy. That feeling of always being watched, of being stalked by her own prey, and even her own family, crept up in her gut again and caused a shiver to run down her spine. She knew, she knew that she had nothing to worry about anymore. Her scars ran deep, however, and Throné was painfully aware that it would take a long, long time for them to truly heal and for her to finally know what true peace felt like...

“Why do you do that with your hand?”

Throné winced as she was snapped from her thoughts, and she glanced down at said hand, which was hovering over her thigh again. A melancholy smile crossed her face and she sighed, clenching and unclenching her fist a few times.

“Old habits die hard...but I’m happy to say that I’m starting to break this one.” Rai only hummed and gave a slight nod in response. Throné let out a relieved sigh, grateful that she didn’t pry; she didn’t want her... colorful past ruining the celebratory mood.

Silence fell over the two women, but Throné noticed that Rai was chewing on her bottom lip, and she could only speculate as to what had her thinking so hard. The awkward tension in the air became almost palpable, until Rai finally turned to Throné and looked her in the eye.

“Here, this might help with that bad habit. Can’t do that if your hand is already occupied, right?”

Throné’s eyes went wide when Rai reached out to take her hand, and the nighttime breeze felt that much cooler as it brushed over her flushed cheeks. Rai offered her a small smile, and as Throné returned it, she slowly entwined their fingers together.

“Thanks.”

Throné didn’t know what to make of the sudden, comforting warmth that blossomed within her chest, but she did know that it had everything to do with Rai Mei. It seemed odd, as they had just met, but something about the way that Rai carried herself made Throné feel calm - and even safe - for the first time in a long, long time.

“Has anyone…shown you around town yet, Throné?” Rai asked, casting a sidelong glance at her as she rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand. “If you’re not busy tomorrow, maybe we could...” Rai waved her hand as she trailed off and averted her gaze, and Throné was endeared by the cute blush that had covered her cheeks.

“I’d like that, Rai Mei.”

“O-Oh, great!” Rai said with a nod, before her head snapped up and she pointed at the sky. “Ah, it looks like people are releasing paper lanterns tonight.” Throné’s gaze followed where she was pointing, her eyes going wide and a smile slowly spreading across her face at the beautiful sight.

Throné hated gatherings with large crowds of people, but as her hand remained entwined with Rai Mei’s while they watched the beautiful display of lanterns slowly rise into the star-filled sky, she found herself grateful that she had been invited to this particular one...

[eve6262]

now vs then

OT 2 SPOILERS // Throne and Father-centric, not ship (hopefully obviously).

Sometimes it’s hard to read Father.

Mother is obvious. She doesn’t bother hiding her emotions, because why should she? She’s the one with the whip, the one who makes the plans; her obvious glee makes her all the more frightening. Mother doesn’t care about that sort of thing.

But with Father, it’s harder.

The two of them are in one of the upper rooms of the den. Most Blacksnakes aren’t allowed up here, having rooms in other buildings across the New Delsta backstreets or something in the basement, but Father said she was special because of how young she joined them, so she lives in the den. The killing and crime she could do without, but a fluffy bed and pretty pictures are nice to come home to.

Father sits at the desk, though he’s turned around the chair so he can watch her practice her knife work. Every now and again he gives a pointer- “A little more momentum, less force-” and she complies. There’s a smile on his face.

His eyes are...harder to read.

There’s something that she thinks is supposed to be pride, in there. It’s probably to do with his own knife skills- second to none and killer of the most well-guarded targets, he’s certainly got reason to be proud of that. She’s gotten well enough into her own skills to understand how hard it is to fully master so many different blades and wield them as well as he does.

But something else is completely foreign to her. It’s not like the way his eyes glitter when he describes the fresh scent of blood, or the thrill of the kill. It’s not like the way his eyes haze over a little when he’s had one too many glasses of whiskey, and his voice gets a little raspier. It doesn’t even look like the time she mentioned that she liked talking to Pirro because he was nice to her, and he knelt down on her level and said, “If he ever tries something on you, you come tell me, okay?”

She, of course, said, “Why would I need to do that?”

And he laughed. And then looked her dead in the eyes and made her promise. Maybe it’s a personal thing.

It’s always a personal thing with the Blacksnakes.

Not for Throné, though. She likes Pirro, is friends with Scaracci and Donnie, but she doesn’t go out of her way to hate other people. Nobody’s ever done something so mean to her she wanted to hurt them. It’s never been personal. Maybe that comes with being barely twelve years old, maybe that comes with hating the smell of blood. She isn’t sure.

Not a lot of things are concrete aside from her collar. The way Mother’s temper flares at the slightest disgrace; what was courtesy yesterday is disrespect today. The whip marks may never truly heal from her skin, especially from that one incident with the blood.

She hated that.

But Father’s eyes had been something special.

That’s what it is now, she realizes. The second thing in his eyes. Whatever it was, it’s the same thing as when he bandaged her back after Mother whipped it bloody. She was only ten at the time, and her own eyes held tears she was trying furiously to hold back, but they simply wouldn’t have it. It’s been more than a year since then, and now she knows better. The tears will be stayed, or else Mother’s wrath gets worse.

It also gets worse when she doesn’t see tears, to be fair. There’s no winning in this house unless you’re Mother or Father. Or maybe one of the dealers at the poker tables.

Father makes a noise in her throat and she stops on instinct. Looks up to him- even sitting down he’s so tall- and walks over to her in that strange gait she’s heard Pirro call a ‘stalk’. “Good job, Throné.”

He pats her head. She closes her eyes and pouts, because now her hair is all messed up, and he laughs. But she does miss the warmth of his hand when he pulls it away. Still, she fixes the part around her eye, now out of place and hard to see through properly.

“Come on, then. I have some work to do. Do you wanna come with me?”

“...Okay,” she says, because accompanying Father on his work is better than staying in the den with just Mother. Even if there’s the smell of blood.

“I hoped you’d say that,” he says with a familiar glint in his eye, and beckons her along.

---

It took a while for her to figure out what that look in his eye meant.

She didn’t think about it even after he died. Even after the word “dad” spilt from her lips like the blood from his stomach, the life leaving him even as he held her hand and wanted nothing anymore but the love from a daughter he’d thought he’d lost. He had it, in the end. Claude didn’t get what he wanted, and neither did her true mother, and neither did Mother-

But maybe at least Father is happy in whatever hell he’s in. Happy that he got his daughter.

It took a long, long while. But she finally saw it again.

In Osvald’s eyes.

Elena has apparently discovered some huge conspiracy within whatever organization controls the labeling of soulstones. Naturally, Osvald agreed to accompany her, and Throné was bored, so she decided to tag along. In secret, because Elena is a nice girl and Osvald’s daughter shouldn’t be caught mingling with thieves.

He’s probably noticed her by now, though.

She’s ranting about something or other. It sounds remarkably less like the man himself and more like Partitio rambling about whatever new invention he’s discovered, excited almost more than Ochette catching a whiff of good meat. The look in her eyes is soft but determined, a combination she’s never seen before but wants to associate with pure-hearted children.

Osvald is of course proud of his daughter. It’s in his eyes- pride, and what she can now safely define as affection.

It’s almost unfathomable to think it was in Father’s eyes.

Almost.

Because wasn’t that what it was all about? Mother cared for nothing, Claude dispassionate, Pirro setting aside whatever reservations he had in search of luxury. But Father was nothing like any of them. He told her where to go, gave her a warning but knew she’d follow because he never cared about this game. None of it- not the garden, not the tests, nothing.

He wanted a daughter. And Claude took that away from him. So he hid, and bid his time, and knew that the only thing that could get him his daughter was his skills with a blade, and so he used them. And then, when he had her, he realized:

What did he have to give her?

The answer wasn’t much. A life of crime. Of death. That she didn’t enjoy, he must’ve realized. That fateful day, when he asked if she liked the smell of blood, and she asked for the raspberry jam she loved back home. He’d given her some, but looked contemplative as he stared out a window. Perhaps he forgot, in all his quest for the things he wanted, that not everyone was as bloodthirsty as he was.

And yet he tried anyway. He did, in the end, give her the one thing she wanted- her freedom. With Father alive, there could be no freedom, even if he had simply handed over the key. He knew the truth- the spiraling, awful, toxic truth. He knew the Lostseed tale and the man who presided over a fallen kingdom.

It was a gift to him, too. A chance to finally leave the hell of a cesspit that was life for him- a wife taken, his daughter raised into this awful cycle, having to deal with Mother as a cohort.

“Father. Wherever you are...”

She starts down the path, realizing that Elena and Osvald are gone. She’ll catch up. She always does.

“I hope you’re happy.”

--

this is pretty short and really only has me as the target demographic so I thought I'd post it on tumblr instead of ao3 if you want me to post it on ao3, leave a comment and I'll post it though, I get not wanting to read your fanfiction on tumblr lmao

~Eve6262

[runicmagitek]

Sending My Love: Chapter 2 (Castti/Throné - Octopath Traveler 2)

I was able to sneak in some edits to post a bonus chapter this week! Enjoy and stay tuned Sunday for more~

[read more on AO3]

[sector-z-knd]

Agnea's Purse of Hope

When the travelers need some funds for a performance, Agnea offers her purse of hope. However, not everyone is as keen to let her use her savings.

—

“Ten thousand leaves for four tickets?! You gotta be kiddin’ me!”

The concierge shrugged, hands up in a placating manner, though it didn’t quite hide the smirk the man had. “Our performance prices may be high, but it is to cover the costs of the performers and stage designers. You understand, I’m sure?”

Partitio let out a resigned sigh, lifting his hat off with one hand to scratch at his head. “Well, can’t knock a fellah for tryin’ to make a profit…”

Agnea couldn’t help but fret on her feet, her body showing her agitation just as it did all her moods. “But we have to get inside! Dolcinea is performing, and I just know something is going to happen during the show!”

Again, the concierge shrugged, turning away to help the next customer. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t make the prices. Unless you have the coin, I’m afraid you’re not getting in.”

“Hm, that does put a wrench in our plans. Considering that Miss Dolcinea will only be in town for one night, finding the funds before the tickets sell out may prove difficult,” Temenos mused, hand on chin. Though he looked deep in thought, his eyes were on the gates of the New Delsta performance hall, as if pondering the best way of scaling them without being caught. It was always his mindset to find the paths no one else would tread.

“Indeed. Perhaps paying for the ferry to New Delsta was a mistake,” Hikari sighed, though he took the more practical approach and pulled his satchel off his back. The old canvas bag was worn but sturdy, with the diamond symbol of Ku lovingly stitched into it. He started to dig around in it, the others gathering around to see what he was doing. “We can still pull together the funds if we sell some of our belongings. Partitio, do you have anything of value you would not regret parting with?”

The merchant dug around before finally pulling a pocket watch from an inside pocket. “Well, I do have that silver watch from Clockbank that we got from that old feller. It’d fetch a pretty price on the market.”

“Good. Temenos?”

With a long-suffering sigh that was as iconic as his clerical catchphrase, the man pulled out a handkerchief and began unwrapping something from within. “While I do think there are better ways to find funds quickly, I’m happy to impart what I have.” He pulled the last fold away to reveal a shimmering stone, the last lights of the dying sun setting ablaze its deep stoney hues.

Partitio’s eyes sparkled in kind as he bent down to inspect the stone. “Hoo-eey, that’s a mighty fine stone! Where’d you get that?”

There was a mischievous gleam in Temenos’ eye as he pulled the stone back, teasing the merchant with hidden treasure. “I believe Throné, ahem, borrowed this as we were passing through the last town. She claimed her gut had told her it would be wise to carry it along, and it seems she was right.”

“And her gut hasn’t failed us yet,” Hikari nodded, and pulled out a small stone relief. It had a carving of a dragon on it, the details worn but the features still visible. The warrior’s eyes softened as he looked at it, then turned solemn as he held it up. “I can give this.”

“But Hikari, isn’t that one of the treasures of Ku?” Temenos pried, his eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Wouldn’t you prefer to take it home with you once you return?”

“There are other relics of Ku that hold more worth to me, all of which will be reclaimed once I take back the throne,” the warrior said, passing the relic to Partitio. The merchant held the small relief with careful hands, already planning to buy it back when the chance arose.

All through this exchange, Agnea remained quiet. Her hands were clasped at her chest, clutching a small cloth purse. She swallowed hard, doing her best not to show her nerves. The others were giving such wonderful things that would surely fetch a good price, but in her heart, she knew it wouldn’t be enough. Going to this performance was something that she had wanted to do in the first place, so it only made sense that she contributed the most, right?

“Agnea? You’re being very quiet.”

The woman jumped, the coins rattling in her purse as she did. Her gaze flickered between the three men: Hikari squatting on the ground, Partitio still half-bent over him, Temenos with that ever-present smirk as he regarded her. Pulling in a steadying breath, Agnea said, “I’ve made up my mind.”

“On what?” Temenos urged, head cocked.

“On this. We can sell my purse.”

Partitio’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, eyebrows flying past the brim of his hat. “Yer purse of hope? Agnea…!”

The dancer pressed on, trying to smile. “It has ten thousand leaves in it already, so it’ll cover the cost of the tickets for sure-!”

“No.”

All three looked down to Hikari, who was busy rearranging things in his pack. His face was blank, but oddly steely. Had he really just said no?

Blinking in surprise, she stepped over to the warrior and put on her winning smile. “It’ll be alright, Hikari! It was my idea to come to the theater, so it’s my responsibility to pay-”

“No.” This time the word was said with more force, and Hikari rose to his full height. Though he was not much taller than her, he was still imposing as he looked down to her. “You need that bag to achieve your dreams. I will not allow you to sell it on our behalf.”

Agnea’s shoulders fell, the tie on her bag drooping. “B-but, Hikari…”

“We’ll find another way,” he said firmly and moved past her, heading for the stairs. “Come on, let’s find an item shop. We don’t have much time before the performance.”

While Temenos hurried to catch up with the warrior, Partitio held back. Agnea was still standing under a streetlamp, her expression caught between disappointment and relief. The merchant stepped towards her, touching her freckled shoulder with his gloved hand. “Aggie?”

“I really thought I’d bring a smile to him, Partitio. I thought offering my purse would be helpful, that he’d be able to keep his relic from his homeland. I didn’t know it would make him upset.”

Partitio had been listening carefully, but at her last words, he barked out a laugh. “Hikari? Upset? Nah, he just wants to make sure your own dreams can come true! Can’t do that if you give it up for a few tickets!”

He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a half-hug, grinning from ear to ear. “Don’t you worry about Hikari, darlin’. You just keep being yer sweet self, and you’ll bring a smile back to his face in no time!”

Agnea nodded slowly, her eyes slowly lighting up as optimism grew. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right! I can still bring smiles to everyone!”

“That’s the ticket!”

Further ahead, Temenos cast a glance over his shoulder at the happy duo. ��Ah, that Partitio. He has a way with making people smile.” He turned his face forward again, arms behind his back as he walked in step with Hikari. Inclining his head towards his fellow traveler, he mused aloud, “Though I wonder why you didn’t take her purse. She offered it willingly, after all.”

Hikari didn’t turn his gaze away from the item shop in the distance. “The first time I met Agnea, she was looking for that purse. In Clockbank, she told Partitio how her village had scraped together that money to help her achieve her dream of stardom. It is not my place to take any of those feelings from her hands.”

Temenos hummed, arms clasped on the staff behind his back. “If it were me-”

“It’s not,” Hikari said flatly, and the cleric gave a soft chuckle, holding a hand up in a placating way.

The silence lasted five heartbeats.

“But if it were me-” Temenos began, earning a sigh from Hikari, “-I would have used her money to buy the tickets, then after selling the items we’d procured, return the money back to her. That way she still has all the leaves she started with.”

“While your method is sound, the leaves we give her would not be the same as the ones given to her by her friends. Everything in that purse came to her through acts of love and tenderness, and those feelings should be continued through letting her use them to become the star she and her village know she can be.”

Temenos chuckled, head tilted as he inspected HIkari’s face. “Why, the war-hardened warrior has a soft side to him! You’re more compassionate than I gave you credit, Hikari.”

Feeling a small glow of pride, Hikari began, “I appreciate your words-”

“Though I do need to point out, your compassionate speech made us miss the general store.”

Hikari stopped in his tracks and whipped around to see Agnea and Partitio standing in front of the store, barely holding back their giggles. Beside him, Temenos had his signature cat-like grin that proved he’d known they’d passed the store but had been waiting to see if Hikari had noticed.

Feeling the tips of his ears turn red, Hikari stalked past and grumbled, “And you’re still as observant as ever, Temenos.”

[thecreaturecalledriza]

Posting two chapters this week because life is about to wipe the floor with my face.

[dorunasch]

From his youth to his young adulthood, Temenos is inquisitive and witty. His best friend, Roi, is quiet and kind. As they grow up, Roi remains Temenos's steadfast companion. As the newly anointed Inquisitor Roi travels to the Western continent to investigate heretics, Temenos's fear for his friend causes his faith to waver. When Roi uncovers a harrowing secret about the church, Temenos's entire world is upended.

And when he loses the last person on the earth he can trust, he is left with nothing but doubt.

i was possessed by the sacred flame and churned out another fic... it's a prequel to the game, exploring the relationship between Temenos and Roi.

[viridiave]

It's been a few days I forgot I haven't posted it here-

Major spoilers up until the final chapter of the game btw

I apologize in advance-

[satorisa]

Ozone and Petrichor

Rating: T

Summary: In which Throné and Hikari get caught in the rain after a late night at the tavern. Part of an art trade with @elementalsoup

Alternate Reading: AO3

*sighs wistfully*

鳴神の 少し響みて さし曇り 雨も降らぬか 君を留めむ [A faint clap of thunder Clouded skies Perhaps rain comes If so, will you stay here with me?]

- Man'yōshū, Book 11, verse 2,513

…

The stench of petrichor seared the back of Throné’s throat before she could even hear the storm outside.

She covered her nose as she left the tavern, hoping the lingering scent of her perfume would mask the foul odor of New Delsta in the rain.

Unfortunately, the base notes had long faded away.

“What’s wrong, Throné?” Hikari asked.

When the door shut behind them, the downpour boomed in Throné’s ears, and nausea began to well up inside her. She mostly blamed the smell, mentally cursing her sensitive nose, to avoid the bubbles of memories that resurfaced with each stifled inhale she took.

“The smell…” she mumbled.

“Is it too strong for you?”

She nodded.

Hikari fished a pouch from his pocket and tossed it to her. Its fragrance cut through the fetor of the rain as it traveled through the air. And when it landed, softly, in her cupped palms, all she could smell was the mixture of herbs inside it.

And all she could feel were the remnants of his warmth cradled in her hands.

“I didn’t pin you as a potpourri kind of guy,” she said, bringing the pouch to her nose.

“I’m not,” he replied, “but Castti made it for me. To calm my nerves.”

“Hm…”

Sleet began to pelt the ground. Throné nearly smothered herself with the pouch while Hikari turned away from her to watch the deluge.  In the meager lighting outside the tavern, she could see the awe in his usually stern profile, captivated by mere water falling from the sky.

“D’you like rain that much?”

“I suppose I do,” he answered. “It rarely rains in Ku and, when it does, it’s a light drizzle at most. So storms like this are always a sight to behold.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Hikari chuckled. “You don’t seem to like rain all that much.”

“Rain’s fine. It’s just water at the end of the day.”

Throné met Hikari’s eyes. He could tell, despite her nonchalance, that there was something else there: another feeling stewing inside, curbed only by the fragrant herbs grounding her to that very moment.

She looked away from him, focusing on the hail bouncing at their feet. And when they finally came to a stop, they disappeared under the unrelenting torrent, leaving no trace of their existence.

Ah, how she wished that memories were just as transient.

She knew that, no matter how terribly she stumbled over her words were she to open up, Hikari would understand. Despite the difference in their upbringings, they could read the space between each other’s words with the same ease as walking. And, while, such a thought would assure most people, her closeness with Hikari specifically terrified her.

It was different from the intimacy she shared with Castti and infinitely more so than the kindred bond she shared with Temenos; she felt at home in her relationships with them. However, while she felt just as comfortable with Hikari, his earnestness effortlessly dredged up thoughts and feelings she would rather keep tucked away.

“Don’t force yourself to share if you’re not comfortable,” Hikari reassured with a smile. “But if you do want to tell me, take all the time you need. I don’t think the storm is letting up anytime soon.

The sleet stopped, and the sound of rain filled the silence between them. Hikari looked out beyond the awning. Throné looked inwards.

“It…kind of smells like blood, doesn’t it?”

Hikari sniffed the air before nodding. She had only mentioned her aversion to the smell briefly, yet Hikari sensed the weight of her feelings beyond that sentiment and knew that such a topic shouldn’t linger any longer in their conversation.

“It’s a good thing I had that pouch on me, then,” he said.

“Even when Castti’s not here, she’s still a godsend.”

Hikari laughed. Throné cracked a smile. And, in that moment, she forgot about the melancholy the rain had brought her. Before their mirth dissipated, thankfully, Hikari had recalled something.

“Were you there when Ochette said that the rain smells different from place to place?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. What about it?”

“Osvald said that the smell of the rain depends on the environment you’re in. So the rain smells like that here because of all the development. Whatever he said after that was beyond me, though.”

Throné thought about the terrible squall on their way to Wellgrove and, only when Hikari mentioned it, did she realize how different the rain smelled there when its fresh scent returned to her. The cave they were stranded in that night had an earthy and musty bouquet, but it was so much more natural than the stench the herbs were warding off.

Compared to the verdant forest surrounding the cave, New Delsta had little greenery. The damned city was mostly cobblestone streets snaking through brick-and-mortar buildings so close together that it was suffocating; she would never return to this accursed place of her own accord. However, her journey had led her and her companions back here to investigate what laid beyond the locked door in the sewers. Her freedom was within her grasp, yet she continued to feel trapped by this artificial jungle forcibly imprinted onto her very being.

“Would you like a hug?”

She nearly dropped the pouch in her hands. Unable to string an appropriate response from the fractured thoughts in her mind, she automatically answered his question with a bewildered look.

Before traveling with the group, Throné was wary of physical contact. Every touch she shared with someone else, whether to seduce them for information or take their very life, was fueled by the intent to cause harm.

However, after all the time she spent traveling with her companions, she adapted to their physical idiosyncrasies: she linked elbows with Ochette, high-fived Agnea, drunkenly embraced Castti, received awkward side-hugs from Osvald, fist-bumped Partitio, and nudged Temenos. Each small gesture carried the trust they built up over the course of their adventure, showing how much these disparate lives had come to care about each other.

The only person in their group that still kept to himself was Hikari, but his amicable demeanor outside of meticulously maintaining his personal bubble made Throné think little of it. She chalked it up to him being royalty and filed it away as one of Hikari’s many quirks.

“Never thought you’d ever offer.”

“It’s just—it looks like you need one.”

Throné returned his scrutiny from earlier. Hikari met her gaze. His eyes were steadfast.

“Physical contact doesn’t come easy to me. Every time I touch someone, I’m scared that I’m going to hurt them. That I’m going to blink and, when I open my eyes again, someone I care about will be bleeding to death in front of me.” Hikari smiled. “And I have a feeling that, this time, words weren’t going to be enough to comfort you.”

“Like you said earlier, there’s no need to push yourself.”

“I know, but I won’t be able to move forward if I don’t try, right?”

Throné tucked the bag of herbs into the pouch hanging from her waist before pulling Hikari into an embrace. And he reciprocated, wrapping his arms around her surprisingly delicate frame.

This did not feel like the drunken hugs she shared with Castti: their similar heights and build made each hug feel just right. And every time Throné snuggled with the apothecary, she always smelled strongly of herbs that masked the faint, acrid smell of antiseptic that laced the threads of her clothes.

Hikari, on the other hand, was slightly taller with a lean frame that masked his muscular build, but his body melded with Throné’s perfectly. He smelled like the sun and sweat from their trek earlier, but he also smelled distinctly like Hikari, a scent reminiscent of the fresher notes of petrichor, that complimented the lingering aroma of the sachet of herbs.

He was right. This was more comforting than anything he could’ve told her.

Throné relished this moment, bracing herself for the moment Hikari would soon pull away.

He didn’t.

Hikari deepened the embrace, nuzzling his face into her hair. His unexpected boldness surprised her, and she stiffened in response.

“I guess, despite it all, I still am a man,” Hikari joked as his voice rumbled through Throné. “I know I should let go, but I can’t seem to want to.”

“It’s because you’re deprived.”

Hikari laughed. “I guess so, but—“ His hands traveled up to cradle her head, terrified and apologetic for something Throné couldn’t discern. “—it hurts seeing you like that. Somehow more so than anyone else. And, if I could, I wish I could take away all the pain you’re shouldering.”

“You’re only saying that because we’re friends.”

“Even if we weren’t, everyone deserves to be happy. Even you. Especially you.”

Tears began to pool at the edge of Throné’s eyes. The shockwave of his words alleviated the tension in her body as her arms tightened around Hikari, and she dug her face into his chest. When her tears finally escaped, Hikari’s robe soaked them up.

“…same to you.”

There was something extremely romantic about a prince and an assassin, after a moment of emotional intimacy, sharing a comforting embrace under the guise of the night. They stood in their dry haven, sheltered from the rain, as they continued to melt into each other.

But the romance of their moment ended when Throné began to yearn for something beyond a hug. It sometimes happened during jobs with marks she found aesthetically attractive, but such feelings were ephemeral. This was stronger, more dangerous than those transient spikes of adrenaline, and she didn’t know if she would’ve been able to restrain herself were they not in public.

They both pulled away, faces flushed despite the cool weather. Hikari cleared his throat while Throné grabbed the pouch of herbs, drowning herself in its scent to calm herself. This lapse of control had to be caused by the influence of alcohol, compounded by the fact that they were the last two from their party at the bar (again), laughing away and chatting into absurd hours of the night (yet again).

Throné could willingly admit to herself that she was falling for the prince. But this moment confirming that Hikari, to some degree, reciprocated her feelings made her instinctively reject them all the more.

A romance between a prince and an assassin? How could something so ridiculous ever come to be?

After they had both calmed down, and Throné shelved such an absurd thought, did they notice that the rain had let up.

Hikari stepped out from under the awning, enjoying the spray of water, before offering his hand to Throné.

“May I?”

This was a gesture of pure chivalry, spurred only by how late it was and how their conversation devolved. Nothing more, nothing less.

But, while still under the night’s domain, Throné would allow herself to indulge, sampling a taste of the freedom awaiting her by succumbing to her feelings.

“You may.”

She took his hand and, after intertwining their fingers, she stepped towards him. And so, huddled next to each other, they walked back to the inn, savoring their whims of fancy before they had to return to reality.

…

鳴神の 少し響みて 降らずとも 吾は留まらむ 妹し留めば [A faint clap of thunder Even if rain comes not I will stay here Together with you]

- Man'yōshū, Book 11, verse 2,514

[prose-merlin]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Octopath Traveler II (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Temenos Mistral/Osvald V. Vanstein Characters: Temenos Mistral, Osvald V. Vanstein Additional Tags: Anal Sex, Post-Canon, Blow Jobs, Character Study, Relationship Study, Rimming, Size Difference, Hand Jobs, Scent Kink, Anal Fingering Summary:

Osvald may possess a low libido, but as the trite saying goes, absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Letters may dull the edge of longing, but it would never replace the privilege of touch, especially for a long overdue meeting such as this.

Two years, after all, is a rather long time.