#octopath 2 fanfic

[ellibean-icecream]

Like Tears in the Rain

Chapter One - Adrift

“You have the power to save lives. More than any other. That’s why… you have to live. If anyone can create a cure… It’s you… It’s up to you now…”

—

The apothecary’s world rocked around her. Dizziness could be a symptom of any number of afflictions, ranging from the mundane to the severe. There was no need to panic; her first course of action would be to catalog any other symptoms she was experiencing. The more information she had the more accurate her diagnosis would be. Her throat was parched, her lips dry and cracked. Perhaps some combination of sun exposure and dehydration. When was the last time she had had anything to drink? What was she last doing that might have left her so..?

Where was she? Who was she? A torrent of questions filled her mind, a dam bursting before the flood. Why couldn’t she remember anything? The unsteadiness and apparent lack of memory were possibly symptomatic of a concussion.

And just how in the hell did she know all of this?

She heard waves. She opened her eyes slowly, blinking against the bright light. Far above her, masts stretched up into the sky, sails pulled taut by the wind. She spoke, despite the ache in her throat.

“Am I… on a ship?”

That would mean the unsteadiness she had felt since earlier was nothing but the rocking of the vessel on the waves. The sailor kneeling by her side nodded, his dark skin tanned further by his many hours on the sea. He gently pressed a canteen into her hands, helping her drink it. It was the sweetest thing she had ever tasted. As the last drops fell past her lips, the kind-hearted sailor took the canteen back, standing and stepping away from her. “Finally come to, have you? Feeling better yet?”

This question came from an older looking gentleman, dressed in finer garments than the other sailors in sight. Perhaps the captain of the vessel. He looked down at her fondly, a touch of concern in his eyes.

“You’ve got the luck o’ the tides, y’know.”

The apothecary sat up slowly, measuring her body’s response. She still felt slightly dizzy and doubted if she’d be able to stand on her own. The captain reached down, helping her slowly to her feet. Even this simple action left her throat parched once more.

“Easy now, lass.You’ve had a rough time o’ it. Drink up.”

He handed her another canteen of water. This time she took her time drinking it, feeling better with each passing moment. Dehydration, then. Perhaps her loss of memory was a symptom of something separate then.

“Thank you… for saving me.”

“Couldn’t well leave you to the fishes. How’d you end up on that li’l skiff anyhow?”

“Skiff..?” She’d been on a skiff? How did she get there? Had she been part of a ship wreck? She wracked her brain, trying to find anything. Nothing. Meaningless fragments. A half remembered smile. The sound of a laugh, perhaps? Nothing that could explain how she ended up adrift in the ocean.

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“C’mon now, this isn’t the time for jokes.”

A feeling bubbled in her stomach, and she lowered her head. Why would she lie about this? Why would anyone? She glanced back up at the captain, anger rising slightly before she caught his eyes. He was concerned for her. She didn’t know him, but he was concerned.

“I’m sorry, but I really can’t remember anything. Who I am, where I came from… it’s all a blank.”

His concern grew, his eyes staring piercingly into hers. She glanced away, unable to keep his intense gaze. She recognized the feeling in the pit of her stomach. Helplessness. Once more she was adrift, and once more it was the captain who saved her.

“I know one thing ‘bout you, lass. Your name. It’s Castti.”

Castti’s eyes widened slightly. She didn’t know him, but perhaps he knew her.

“Castti… How… How did you know that?”

“It’s stitched onto your outfit. What’s that uniform o’ yours, anyway?”

Castti glanced down at her attire. She wore a light blue cloak, fraying at the ends from use. Beneath this cloak a simple dress of the same color and a white apron accentuated once more in blue. Her boots and leggings were sturdy, and taken with the cloak suggested a life spent on the road. She shook her head slowly in response to his question.

“...Ah, right. Amnesia. Strange to think a person could forget their own name.”

She had to remember. He had given her her name. It was a start, but she needed more information. The crew had to know more about her arrival, and there was plenty of time before they made port.

—

Most of the crew had seemed happy to provide her with what information she needed. She reminded the captain of his daughter, and anyone he favored was welcomed by the crew. Most of the crew at least. One crewman had paled at the sight of her, and avoided her for the rest of the voyage.

The ship weighed anchor in Canalbrine a few days after she had been found adrift. From what she could piece together from the circumstances of her rescue, she had probably drifted from the continent to the east. How she had figured that out was still a mystery. She had found another clue to her identity. Her bag had been full of apothecary supplies, which explained her knowledge of the body, if not how she could remember it.

The captain had been worried about her setting off by herself, without her memories. He has slipped her a small pouch of leaves, enough for a night at the inn and a couple meals. She stepped down off the gangplank and onto the dock.

Canalbrine bustled like any major port at the arrival of a new ship. Traders and passengers alike stepped down around her as they went about their business, annoyed by her taking a moment to gather herself.

“She’s one of them, isn’t she…”

The whisper passed through the crowd as more eyes turned towards her. People turned to stare at her, before slipping down streets and into buildings. It wasn’t long before she was alone at the end of the docks.

“I… appear to be causing quite a stir.”

—

“Excuse me!”

The two girls who had been chatting by the bridge jumped with a start, eyes widening as they saw the apothecary. Without another word the two quickly fled. Castti’s brows furrowed in frustration. Something was clearly wrong, but no one was willing to tell her what. Perhaps the innkeeper would enlighten her, if they even acknowledged her presence. A young man paused in front of the building before her, eyeing her warily. His breathing seemed oddly shallow, and after another step he dropped to his knees. Castti was by his side in an instant.

“Excuse me! Are you alright?”

The young man struggled, trying to get to his feet again before collapsing down once more. Castti eyed him over, mentally noting each visible symptom. His forehead was damp and his breathing shallow, likely he had some kind of fever.

“What’s going on here? Is something wrong with him?”

Castti stood, turning to face the new arrival. Her breath caught on her answer. The woman before her had long, flowing hair tied up in a ponytail. Her brown skin caught the light of the setting sun. She was beautiful. Castti’s face burned as she realized she was forgetting her patient.

“He’s burning up! We need to get him inside!”

[justagingerwithredhair]

What did the Octopath Traveler fandom do to deserve the countless phenomenal artists and writers we have in this community. Every day, I am astounded that the very niche game very few of my irl friends have heard of gets graced with some of the most beautiful works of fan art I've ever seen.

Love you guys and all your work <3

[starbit-is-not-here]

If we as a fandom collectively go into denial mode hard enough we can make this canon I believe in us

[postalninja]

41 for the prompts!

41. comfort food Osvald felt terrible. Not only were his sinuses congested, but his muscles ached and his lungs seemed to be trying to cough themselves free from his chest. At least the fever which had overcome him the previous night had finally broken, but he'd been left weak and helpless in its wake. He had faint memories of a soothing hand pressing something damp and cool to his forehead amidst the delirious dreams the fever had summoned. Castti, he thought to himself, warmth blooming in his chest, distracting him from his misery for a moment. She'd been steadfastly tending to him since the first symptoms of his illness had appeared, not taking no for an answer when he had argued that he was fine. He was grateful now that she'd insisted on him getting some rest. It turned out he truly had needed it - still needed it, in fact. Their journey could wait while he recovered... he supposed it would have to, regardless. Osvald was nearly drifting off, exhaustion pulling him under, when a delectable and familiar aroma cut through his drowsiness and congestion both. His eyes shot open: he would know that smell anywhere. But... was he dreaming? Had the fever returned and vivid memories of his past with it?

But when he turned his head he saw that it was Castti entering the room with a steaming bowl on a tray. For a moment, he'd thought... "Goulash..." he muttered, his brows knit as she approached to sit by his bed. Castti gave him a kind smile. "I thought you might be hungry," she said. Osvald blinked, his mind still reeling from the rush of sense memory the smell of goulash had summoned in his mind. He sat up in bed, propping himself up against his pillows. "I thought chicken soup was customary in situations like this," he breathed dryly - a touch too dryly, perhaps, as he soon found himself coughing violently once more. Castti reached out, setting a soothing hand to his upper arm while the coughing fit passed. Osvald lay back against the pillows with a sigh, drained once again. Castti returned her hand to the tray in her lap, he eyes fixed onto the bowl. "I... thought this would be comforting," she bashfully admitted, replying to his earlier statement. "I had never made goulash before, but the cook at the tavern had a recipe, so I thought I'd try it. The spices aren't all the same, of course, but I tasted it and it's quite good. I hope it's close enough..." "It's wonderful," Osvald assured her without hesitation. Castti looked up, meeting his gaze with a quizzical expression. "But you haven't tried it yet." He gave her a shaky smile, heedless of the moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes. "It doesn't need to be the same," he said, touched. "Thank you, Castti." The same warmth that had earlier blossomed through Osvald's heart now suffused his core as Castti handed him the tray with a shy smile. Her thoughtfulness was more comfort than she would ever know.

[m0nost4tic]

hello octopath tumblr

so i wrote this like....a year ago? i'd upload it on ao3, but i'm a bit too embarrassed to do so thanks to the quality 😓... reformatting it for ao3 would be pretty annoying too. soo

partikari fanfiction that's a tumblr exclusive! yay! might delete later if i think it's too cringe, idk... i don't feel like re-reading my old writing LOL

//

The inn had all long since gone quiet, the dark and silence of night descending upon the land, the soft, gentle glimmer of the moon illuminating the sky. The inhabitants had gone to their respective rooms as the day faded, the first of the bunch being a dancer with long, braided brown hair. With a tired yawn and a wave, she'd been the first to head to rest within her shared room with a certain outgoing and energetic white-haired traveler, and the rest had soon followed in her stead as the light faded to greet the rather chilling dimness of night. It was not long after the innkeeper had hung up his hat and retreated to his own bedroom quarters, assuming all of his tenants had gone to sleep for the rest of the evening. And, for a time, he was correct.

That being, until a small oil lamp flashed to life with the spark of fire, guiding the holder of it through the dark of the inn. Carefully, having awoken from nightmares they desperately attempted to push out of mind, they made their way out of their room and to the dining area, one similar to a tavern, the same place the group of eight had spent awaiting the night. Laughs and drinks and meals had been shared, Agnea's songs and dances of the evening bringing smiles to everyone, even invoking the smallest of smirks onto one normally closed off and rather cold Osvald V. Vanstein's face. Ochette's loud and ever so bright personality shining through as she joined Agnea in show, tumbling over herself on multiple occasions, and her version of singing being blaring at the top of her lungs with no rhythmic tune. The two had gone on for a spare few minutes, without a single care in the world, even the innkeeper seeming baffled by the bold spirits of the two youngest of their group.

The lamp illuminated a seat and table located near the corner of the room as the wielder approached. They gently sat the lamp and a wooden cup of water on the old oak of the furnished table and peered out into the darkness of the open room, eyes tracing the exact position they'd spectated all of their friends in prior.

When Agnea and Ochette's dancing had come to a stop, Temenos took a stand, exclaiming a "Bravo, Agnea! Bravo, Ochette!" as he slowly clapped his hands with the sarcasm the group all knew him for. Throné, the former assassin the cleric had been seated next to, simply rolled her eyes. "What a show," she commented, though the halfhearted smirk on her face showing her true remark and appreciation. Castti, one would call the 'mother hen' of their grouping, quickly and lightheartedly scowled at the pair, a careful reminder to be more considerate rather than teasing or harsh, as both of them tended to put up as some sort of front in most interactions.

..Though, deep within, the other travelers could tell how much they cared. Throné's small implications of overprotectiveness, of offering to steal or even *having* stolen items as gifts, of her warnings of old habits she'd known would cause trouble, such as the time she nearly launched Partitio for sneaking up on her, and of the way she treated all of them more like family than anything else. She hadn't minded when Ochette began calling her mother as well as Castti, nor had she been bothered when Agnea rambled of how she missed her sister dearly. Temenos, on the other hand, was most sarcastic and playfully snooty to those close to him. He'd once acted rather dramatic and surprised by Partitio merely taking his hat off, as if it were some sort of miracle or once in a lifetime experience. Despite all the serious trouble the band of travelers were in, Temenos, more often than not, would find a way to make some light of it. It seemed that was part of being a clergyman, after all - finding the light, even when all else seems far too dark to do so.

With a shaky breath, the person standing in the dark closed their eyes. These memories were fond, the time spent with their friends more precious than anything both within and beyond Solistia, and yet they still brought them an aching, a *longing.* A tightening in their chest that would often reappear, twisting their heart into this inescapable plunge that so frequently threatened to bring tears to their eyes and a quiver to their lips. With the same slow, gentle movements they had carried out to walk into the room, they opened their eyes and sat in the wooden chair. They kept their posture for a long moment, sitting perfectly still and upright, before giving into the feeling that dug itself into their breast, curling in on themselves and slumping forward as their hands grasped the cup. Their long, dark strands of hair, parted on both sides of their face, cascaded around them, loose ponytail hardly aiding in keeping their hair done together. With the soft light of the lamp, they glared down at their reflection in the half filled cup, at the eyebags beneath their darkened eyes, at the hollowed out expression they normally wore, but was so dearly close to stripping themselves of as they pursed their lips together in thought.

...Hikari figured he was one of the most pitiful people he had ever laid eyes upon. His face was tarnished with a look of exhaustion, one that could be so easily fixed, and yet, one he could not find the will within him to repair. Nightmares so oftenly tugged at him during rest, reminding him of past failures and losses, tormenting him during what should be the most peaceful part of day for most. These night terrors certainly were not anything new for the swordsman. He had been experiencing them for as long as he could possibly remember, images of war and bloodshed and *death* filling his nights, though they most certainly had worsened as of late. As had the voice in his head, commanding he give into his insatiable bloodlust and slaughter any of those who dare to oppose him.

Hikari hated to admit it, *despised* to confess, but this voice was beginning to have more and more control over him. He had only very narrowly been able to fight it off the last time it attempted to convince him to give into its will, even while his friends were present. The worry and guilt Hikari felt only began to fester more after such an instance. The thoughts and resilience of his stalwart allies had been what propelled him forward; what helped him fight this, *thing* within him, despite them not knowing of its existence. ...And if that no longer worked, if it was truly beginning to grow stronger, or perhaps *he* was the one getting weaker, then what would that mean for the people around him? Would their lives be put into reckless danger simply because of Hikari's own weakmindedness? He had already been at fault for catastrophic loss and destruction, too weak to have protected his kingdom. If his newfound friends were harmed due to him and his feebleness, he wasn't quite sure if he would ever forgive himself for it.

Hikari had begun to wonder if they'd be safer without him. His allies were strong, determined. They would face any problem in their way with no hesistance or issue. He hadn't any sense of doubt they could carry on without his burden. Not to mention the massive bounty on his head; he wasn't even sure just how many bounty hunters the group had fought off, all coming in search of the former prince of Ku's head.

Ah, and there was his personality, too. A rather sheltered one, in fact. Hikari was unused to true unbridled closeness with others. Yes, he had had allies, but never any quite as those he was traveling with. Never had he had hands taken ahold of, an arm wrapped around him, hugs shared, and hair ruffled, all without a care or doubt in the world. He did not fully understand or comprehend social customs or the actions of others. He wasn't entirely sure as to how almost *everything* outside of Ku worked, and he was even less sure of how proper interaction played out. In Ku, it seemed far simpler. He was a prince, serving his kingdom, caring for his people. Yet that care had lead to many of their deaths. Here, now, was this overwhelming anxiety of becoming far *too* close to anyone. Of the chance someone could tear it all away from him once again, all for his display of kindness.

Thus, Hikari had began watching. With a soft smile on his face from spectating the joy of his friends, he would locate himself not far away from them, though at a good enough distance to blend into the background, to ensure his presence wasn't too great a bother. He cared for them, truly. They were perhaps the greatest people the swordsman had gotten to know, and he was more than glad he was given the chance to accompany them. However, if this, *shadow* within him continued to have its way with him, and if Mugen was still after him, then...

Hikari's heart sunk further into his chest, his grip on the half empty cup tightening. This sort of thought was another thing he loathed admitting, though he knew was true and could not be changed.

*He* was a danger to them. He could not rightfully place all of this misery and disappointment onto whatever sickening burden his bloodline was cursed with, as it all boiled down to *his* blood, *his* mind,.. *his* hands.

All of it, was him.

Was he even worth of becoming the next king? Was this journey one of false hope that could never be truly realized? Even if he were to take back the throne, would he succumb to this voice, and become the very same, if not worse, blood driven conqueror his elder brother had? Would he fall into the same exact pattern that had plagued his bloodline for centuries, just another meaningless victim of this curse?

His hands, the ones of a *warrior,* with rough calluses trained to wield a blade nearly perfectly, the very same ones that had taken life many times before, began to shake. His reflection in the water was ever so slightly distorted as the cup shook within his grasp. The face he saw looking back at him through the rippled watee was the very same that would have easily dictated who lived and who died, while turning his head, ignorant to their pleas and sorrows. The face that would have walked by those suffering, spat on the weak, and scowled at those lesser than him. The face that, while doing so in an entirely immoral way, would have brought prosperity to Ku, through blood and war, as the tradition always had been.

This, was the face of someone whose brother would perhaps be proud of him, rather than the disapproving shame he had always received. ..Of someone whose kingdom would not have gone up in ash, of someone who had not cowardly fled when faced with his own weakness.

It was the him he had been *meant* to become, though was never entirely sure as to why or how he had not.

...And he feared that perhaps it was destiny after all. That, even when it is all over and done with, his softhearted ideals and weakminded personality would falter, and ultimately, he would become the very same monster he has been so desperately attempting to outrun.

If that were the case, then he would not dare to condemn his friends to his fate.

...They would be better on traveling without his meaningless presence. He could travel his road of a possibly foolish attempt of ending a decades old history of bloodshed on his own, even if that road only led to his own destruction in the end, be it to the shadow within or to his brother's cruel blade.

It was all him, after all. All of it. Had he not gotten in the way, Mugen would not have burned Ku to the ground. Tsuki and his people would still be living. He had accepted the blame and fault for the actions of his family a long time ago, as well. During his travels, people have yelled at him, cursing his name and title. "Bastard of Ku," they would say, screaming for his death, enraged by the memory of those they have lost due to Ku's bloodlust. He hadn't minded standing there, taking all of their insults, of allowing them to swing their fists at him. He understood them all too well. That... Feeling, of losing it all, of the desperation of making the feelings and aching and longing just *stop.* Of wanting nothing more than to fill this emptiness in their heart, to end all of the hurt and pain.

Hikari wiped at his eyes. When had these tears began to prick from the corners of them? ...They were meaningless, useless, *worthless.* No amount of insignificant tears would mend any of the destruction Hikari's mere existence had caused, nor the further harm he was going to further be the cause of. He was a blight to this world, after all. An ugly looking stain on the surface of it. He, sometimes, wished he could wipe the world clean of this stain. Of, removing his blight upon Solistia, upon his kingdom, upon his *friends.* To release his allies' from their burden of him. ...And, perhaps, he could. In the dark of night, he could disappear so very easily, and—

"Kari?"

The black haired warrior froze as the familiar voice rang through the room, one he knew all too well of whom it belonged to. How had he not noticed him come in? Had he been *that* caught up in this feeling of shame and overwhelming guilt? He stayed silent, attempting to cling onto the small chance that perhaps it was a figment of his imagination. That, if he peered his eyes up just a bit, the tall figure of a man whose soul was brighter than even the sun would not be standing there. ...But, it was not.

"What're ye doin' up this lat—"

Hikari looked up at him. He watched as Partitio paused, blinking in something akin to shock at what Hikari figures must be the most miserable and pitiful state the merchant has ever seen someone in. The lamp's light had almost burned to its end, but dimly, the features of Hikari's face could be made out. The shaking of his hands, the quivering of his lips, the tears he was hardly managing to hold back. Through the blurriness of his tear filled vision, he watched Partitio's face twist into what the shorter thought would be disgust or shame, but instead was met with a look of pure concern. His eyes only followed as he grabbed a chair, gesturing with his hands to ask for permission to join Hikari, and all the warrior could muster was a nod. Carefully, the taller dragged the chair over, and took a seat beside the worn and broken prince.

"Are ye, alright,..?"

Again, Hikari could not find the words. He felt far too ashamed to admit his incompetence out loud, both to himself, and to the merchant he held so much admiration and respect for. His head very slowly shook an answering 'no,' and he heard Partitio suck in a deep breath in response. ..There it was, the oncoming rant of how stupid this was, of how pathetic or attention-seeking he was being. Of how a warrior such as himself should be far stronger than this, of just how much of a weak fool he was being, of-

His thoughts came to a halt as Partitio's hands covered his own on the cup, carefully taking hold of them and peeling them off to grasp them in his own.

"I'unno what's goin' on up in that head o yers, but if it's keepin ya up lookin' like this, it must be pretty bad, huh?" Commented Partitio, one of his thumbs running over the back of Hikari's hand. "'Nd I'm not gonna make ye talk or anythin' - we can sit here in silence, if ye'd prefer it - but if ya gotta just let it all out, 'm here for ya."

Hikari's mouth fell open for a few seconds, uncertainty filling him, before promptly closing it again. Partitio apparently took note of such an action, as he quickly added on,

"...T's not good t keep all o these sorta feelings bottled up, 'cause that bottle'll get all overfilled n end up spillin' everywhere. If ya gotta let em out, let them," he gave a gentle squeeze to Hikari's hand, "Even the most refined princes n strongest warriors gotta cry sometimes."

.

.

.

...And with that, the shadow's hold on him broke, even if temporarily. Hikari slumped to his side, burying his face into Partitio's chest, wetting and ruining his shirt with the tears that streamed down his face, and still Partitio did not pull away. Rather, he pulled Hikari closer, resting a hand on his back and rubbing soothing circles into it using his thumb, murmuring soft "Shhh"s and "Yer alright"s and other comforting words as the prince's perfectly crafted poise shattered to pieces within his arms.

It felt as if hours had passed by the time Hikari had entirely run out of tears. Shame filled his body, attempting to swallow him whole, for having wasted Partitio's precious time sleeping just to weep into his chest, as if he were a little kid. ...Yet, he did not quite feel like pulling away, despite knowing he should. The warm embrace he was wrapped in, his head laid against his chest and thumb still rubbing circles, was pleasant, and comforting. If he could stay within Partitio's arms like this for an eternity, he would without hesitance.

Though, as much as he would like to, he could not. He had a duty to uphold, a kingdom to fight for; a role to fulfill. Some days, it felt like he had nearly the entire world on his shoulders. He supposed his legs were doomed to give out eventually, and he'd easily be crushed under the weight of it all.

"Kari?," came Partitio's voice, breaking the silence between them. The younger managed a questioning hum.

"If ye don't mind me askin', what's got ya feelin' like this?"

Hikari froze once again. How was he meant to answer that? To tell how his own weak, foolish incompetence made him feel sick to his stomach, how such a feeling only twisted and turned until he could no longer eat without feeling sick of his own being? To admit to the *fear* he felt of *himself,* of the potential of becoming just like those he has fought so powerlessly against, of the potential of being nothing but a heartless killer with a bloodlust that may never be satisfied, all because he could not keep proper control of himself? To confess to all the blame he has placed upon himself, to spill to the merchant how all of his misfortunate had been his own fault? To reveal the shame and guilt and utmost *regret* he feels, regarding the memories of the blood both on his hands and coating his blade, dripping from the sheen of silver onto the desert sands? To easily disclose the shame of being unable to face the recollection of all the hollowed faces of those whose lives he had taken unwillingly, and of those who he could do nothing but watch be mercilessly slaughtered by his own kin? To acknowledge how he had never properly grieved over the loss of his father, friends, nor kingdom, that from that very moment, he has attempted to hold his head high, refusing to look back, and not even being given the chance to spend time for himself, as every waking moment was spent avoiding people who wanted him dead, or attempting to end this all before Mugen caused more irreversible damage? To avow that he feels as if he is nothing but a burden after all, that Mugen and all the others who spoke of him with such contempt were correct, that he is a weakling and insufferable and worthless, with no purpose outside of serving those he cares for, and if he cannot even do that, then perhaps he truly is worthless after all, and how he believed discarding of his meaningless existence would be much better than forcing everyone to put up with it, how he sometimes wished he did not wake to see dawn, how he fully believed Partitio and the rest of the would would simply be better without him, how he does not dare speak of his feelings because they are only ever met with disdain and he'll burden or upset or hurt those close to him, how he does *nothing* but cause harm, how he is perhaps *deserving* of all of the cruelty and pain imaginable for whatever sins he has committed, and no matter how hard he tries, he will *always* be nothing but a blight, and a failure of a son and prince, and a disappointment of a brother and to his kingdom?

...He couldn't find the words to tell him any of it. How stressed he was, how he so frequently felt he was on the brink of breaking, how..utterly pitiful, he really was. Partitio didn't deserve to have to deal with him and his pathetic emotions, anyway. He deserved much better. To enjoy time with the other travelers, to smile and laugh and be happy, while Hikari watches from the background, from a safe distance where he cannot possibly harm anyone further.

He should not be burdening Partitio with this, he realized. He began to sit up, but found himself unable. Partitio's grip around him tightened ever so slightly to hold him into their cuddling position, and with his relentless crying not long before, he couldn't find the strength to fight him off. So, instead, he fancied to look up at Partitio, to see the man's newfound dislike for him for himself.

...And, gazed upon those sweet, silvery blue eyes being stained with soft, tiny tears.

"...Kari," he said, a small crack indicating the hurt in his voice. But not of distaste or rage, not one that had been caused by Hikari, no. Of.. *Sympathy?* Or was it empathy? What had caused this?, Hikari pondered.

Then, he realized. His mouth was open.

How.

How much had he said.

A paralyzing fear ran through him. Had he really been so careless? How hadn't he noticed his mouth was running rampant with thoughts he had never dared to admit to *anyone?* Gods, he really was a fool. It was a wonder how he hadn't already gotten himself *killed* by this point.

"I don't real know what t say. But Gosh, 'm sorry," began the merchant, "Ya deserve a lot better than everythin' you've been put through. To Hell with what people've said or tried to do to ya. 'Nd yer not a burden or weak or anythin', y'know? You're one o the strongest warriors out there, I'd reckon - ye've lost so much, n yer still fightin'. That takes someone real strong! N, hells, it one o the things that make me love ya so. I knew ya were strong n fierce n downright amazin' since the moment I laid eyes on ya."

...Partitio's face lightly flushed as the words slipped from his tongue without thought, and Hikari..was in disbelief. Surely he did not mean it in such a way?

"Still meant what I said waaay back then too. Lady Luck musta been really shinin' down on me, 'cause I got t meet someone like you. Nd I'm not plannin' on givin' ya up anytime soon either, so don'tcha go tryin' to bail on us, or I'll *personally* go draggin' ya back here."

There was a long pause as Partitio thought for a moment, allowed Hikari to sit up, though only slightly, and gazed directly into his coal black eyes.

"..I love you. Lots. 'N I wanna be here for ya, if you'll have me. I can't real do that if ya go runnin' off on me, but I promise to ya," lifting his hand, he carefully tucked one of Hikari's strands of hair behind his ear, "If, ye do stick round, I'll make it worth yer while. 'N we'll get through all o' this, together. You don't gotta go facin yer demons alone, no matter if they're yer folks back at Ku or yerself or whatever else - cause me, 'n' the others, ..we all got yer back."

Partitio studied Hikari's face, and noticing no sign of discomfort or pain, he carefully pressed their foreheads together.

"..Ya mean the world t me, Kari. I mean it."

Hikari,..was stunned. He could not think of a reaction or response or words or - *anything.* It was simply as if his brain had shut off. Emotions bloomed in his chest, mixed with the twinge of immeasurable guilt and how he felt as if he could not *allow* Partitio to love him so, how he *knew* it would only cause him pain in the end. How, his hands were clumsy, not clever. That, if anything, he should keep his claws away when they are close enough to hurt him. How he knows his being and habits and *everything* about him is doomed to cause eventual pain. If Partitio, *ever* found out about,..the *most* effective way he'd found to help deal with the pain, the thoughts, all of the calling for blood and desire to spill endless amounts of it; ..he'd surely be mortified.

...

And yet, this selfish desire within him. This, strong, euphoric-like feeling he was foreign and unfamiliar to, dared him to give it a chance. To, *allow* himself to be close to someone, and for that someone to care for him, in spite of *knowing* both parties will likely only end up harmed in the end. That, he will likely only dim or darken the bright sunshine that is Partitio Yellowil. His blight upon the world was one that could not be fixed, and it would only cause eventual wreckage to those around him...And, still, he dared to *want* to be incredibly selfish and cruel, to let Partitio in, knowing of these consequences, of this fate. Because, he *wanted* Partitio. In all truth, he wanted Partitio to care for him, to embrace him and hold him, to show and teach him the love he is so foreign to, having never experienced such a gift in Ku. One could even say, a part of him ached for this brilliant man that brought so much light to his bleak existence, who managed to make him feel better when no one else could, who, apparently, *always* wants to be there, by, of all the people in the world, *Hikari's* side.

..For the second time, Hikari's mouth fell agape, words falling short yet again. So, rather than verbally wording his want, he mustered up the same confidence that had hardly gotten him through the trials he had faced thus far,

And, gently, with great caution, leaned up and forward to meet Partitio's lips with his own. The merchant, though initially surprised, leaned into the kiss, all too happy to return Hikari's sudden sign of affection.

The hole in Hikari's chest faded into nothingness, if only for a moment, the feeling of something within him constantly missing was gone.

Even if only for a fraction of a second, the darkness in his heart had dissipated, and the sun beamed down on him.

...

Partitio was *his* sunshine.

And he doesn't think he would rather have it any other way.

[hylaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa]

AgneKari Week 2024 Official Prompts and Rules

Hello friends! Thank you to everyone who showed interest in AgneKari Week 2024! We are excited to announce the prompts and rules for AgneKari Week 2024!

Join us from August 11-17!

We are so pleased to announce the first annual AgneKari Week, a full seven days dedicated to the adorableness that is Agnea Bristarni/Hikari Ku from Octopath Traveler II. All are welcomed to participate in this event with fanart, fanfiction, poetry, musical compositions, crafts, and any other creative outlet of your choice.

Please see below for full event information!

How to participate:

During the week of August 11-17, share your creative works related to Agnea/Hikari! You can participate as little or as much as you would like – no need to come up with something for every day. Check out the prompt list below to inspire you, and help us spread the word by liking, resharing, giving kudos, and commenting on other participants’ work.

When uploading works to Archive of our Own (AO3), please drop them in the “AgneKariWeek2024” collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/AgneKariWeek2024 

When posting works to social media, please use the #AgneKariWeek2024 tag so that others can easily reshare!

Prompts:

For each day, we are providing two prompts to choose from. You can pick your favorite or try to combine them. Don’t be afraid to get creative – all potential interpretations of the prompts are welcomed! And if the prompts aren’t speaking to you, no worries. Thursday is a free day, when you can write, draw, or produce anything you’d like, as long as it relates to Agnea/Hikari.

Full prompt list:

Sunday, August 11: Home | Path

Monday, August 12: Music | Hot

Tuesday, August 13: Travel | Rest

Wednesday, August 14: First | Fall

Thursday, August 15: Bewildering Grace (Free Day)

Friday, August 16: Joy | Sorrow

Saturday, August 17: Shadow | Dawn

Where to go for more information:

Follow the official AgneKari Week twitter/X account @AgneKariWeek

Join the official AgneKari discord: discord.gg/ppQFjwnX

Or email any questions to AgneKariWeek@gmail.com

Who’s steering this ship?

We have two moderators, myself and Ivy!

You can find Ivy on Twitter (@Ivy_WritesYall), Discord (@pomegranate_leaves) and AO3 (@azuki_porridge).

You can find me on Tumblr (@hylaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa), Discord (@hygirl), and AO3 (@hiya_girlie).

Other questions and answers:

I want to participate, but I don’t want to write or draw. Is there anything I can do?

There are plenty of ways you can participate! Tell an artist or writer what you like about their work, repost some of your favorites, or get creative – compile a playlist, make a mood board, or bake themed cupcakes! All ideas are welcome.

Can I share information about AgneKari Week on my social media channels?

Absolutely – in fact, we would love it if you did! Feel free to direct folks to the official channels for more information.

Can I include background ships?

Sure! Just make sure they are tagged appropriately.

Can I write/draw explicit content?

We ask that all previews be non-explicit so that we can share freely, but as long as your work is tagged appropriately, there are no rating limits!

I like Agnea and Hikari but want to depict them as friends. Is that okay?

We agree that friendship is a great ship! Feel free to depict them as friends – we just ask that you don’t pair them romantically with anyone else if you tag your work as part of AgneKari week. And please bear in mind that folks may still interpret it as romantic.

Why is the free day called Bewildering Grace?

Because we’re wondering what will happen!

I have a prompt idea for AgneKari week. Where can I submit it?

Please send any ideas to the email address listed above! The prompts for this year are finalized, but we would love to hear your thoughts on prompts for future weeks.

I have a question that’s not listed here. What should I do?Reach out to the mods on any of the channels listed above, and we’ll do our best to get back to you with an answer as soon as possible.

Thanks for joining us for our inaugural AgneKari week, and we hope you have a wonderful time!

-Mod Hy♥️

[aptericia]

Happy birthday!!🎉🥳

To celebrate I want to give you a little (ok, it may have gotten a little longer than I anticipated) one-shot of some Temenos and Throné friendship and fluff (and maybe some angst). I hope you like it and happy birthday again!! Plus I hope you’re having a wonderful birthday full of everything you love!💖

(as a foreword this takes place a few years after the game’s story and includes some vague spoilers for Temenos’s and Throné’s stories)

“Say Temenos,” Throné asks, approaching the inquisitor with a light smile tugging her lips.

Looking up from his delicate work of cutting, sewing, and coloring his next batch of puppets, Temenos smiles fondly at the sight of his old friend. “Throné! What an excellent surprise this is!”

Temenos quickly stows away the puppets and his supplies. “Why do I have the honor of seeing you today?”

Throné’s hand reaches up to idly rub at her freed neck. It’s somewhat reassuring to Temenos, knowing that habit of hers never went away. 

“I know it’s a bit odd, but I have a gift for you.”

“A gift? While I am quite flattered it hardly seems fair to you who has traveled so far to give me a gift with no occasion.”

Throné chuckles, pulling a small item out from her pocket. “I was nearby anyway and I've been holding on to this for too long now.” Suddenly she hesitates, pulling her hand away from Temenos. 

“Is something the matter?” Temenos watches her eyes soften, an almost guilty look clouding her eyes. Brightening his tone so Throné knows he is only joking he asks, “I’m not receiving a stolen good, am I?” 

Throné’s eyes dart to the floor. “Listen, I took this a long time ago. It’s just time for you to have it.”

“My dear Throné, you do realize I will not have you thrown into jail for some light thieving, yes?”

Laughing a little, Throné’s shoulders drop. “Just take it, alright?”

And with that Throné presses the mysterious item into Temenos’s palm, waiting patiently for Temenos to examine it. 

Whatever it is has been wrapped in thinning brown paper, small holes tearing through to reveal what it protected. Curiously peeling back the paper, Temenos only grows more confused.

“Pardon me for sounding ungrateful but, what is this?”

Throné lets out a long sigh. “I suppose you wouldn’t recognize it, seeing as I stole it long before I even met you.” Glancing at Throné, Temenos waits for her to explain what this trinket is. “It belonged to Crick.”

“Oh.”

Swallowing, Temenos studies the trinket more carefully now, a tightness wringing his chest. It is something silver plated, or at least it used to be, as most of the silver has rubbed off to a hard, brown metal. The metal itself has been shaped to resemble a ram’s horn curling in on itself with a rubbed away flower still blooming in the center of the design.

Throné’s heels click on the floor of the cathedral. “I thought maybe he would have mentioned it or you might have known what it meant to him.”

“Regretfully, I do not.” Temenos cannot stop staring at the charm, passing his thumb over the raised edges and flattening spirals. It is clearly a well-loved item. “You said you got this before we met?”

“Yeah, of course I didn’t know him at the time either. I just thought he looked like he may have something to steal, being a Knight-in-training and all, but I only found that.”

“And you kept it?” Temenos finds tears slipping down his cheeks, but his heart has not felt so warm in such a long time.

Resting her hand on Temenos’s arm, Throné smiles, “I thought it looked nice. I thought maybe it would bring me good luck, and I would say it certainly did.”

“Thank you, Throné,” Temenos sniffles, wiping the last tears away. “Truly, thank you.”

Slipping away, Throné relaxes into her regular aloof posture. “I’m just glad you’re not throwing me into jail.”

“Of course not! Though my door is always open to hearing your confessions,” Temenos teases, clenching Crick’s old talisman so hard his hard trembles.

“Not in a thousand years, Temenos.”

After more pleasantries, Throné gives her final goodbyes to Temenos, forcing him to promise that he would be the one to travel to her next time. The sun is setting as Temenos watches Throné leave, and a light breeze blows through the trees. Their orange leaves rustle and gently fall to the ground as Temenos makes his way back inside the church, clutching Crick’s talisman close to his heart with a smile on his face.

OMIGOSH??? FOR ME???? THANK YOU SO MUCH WAAAAAAHH!!! 😭😭😭

This is such a sweet scene and you wrote my favorite little guys so well!!! I have indeed been having a good birthday, in no small part to you and all my friends who have been super nice!! I will treasure this forever <3<3<3<3

(Do you post fics on Ao3 or anything? I would love to read more of your work!!)

[leonidskies]

I wrote some Hikari-focused hurt/comfort from the perspective of all the other travellers! I really love this piece. Come get your Hikari-hurting juice :)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55031746

[fly-arrow]

[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 ↓

[powwidge]

[octopath 2 endgame spoilers]

i recently saw a post which was like "underrated tropes: foudn family that all hate each other" and that's just the moonshade order and it absolutely kills me kjafhgjdk i love how everyone in the moonshade order just kinda hates each other apart from some people being obsessed with others (tanzi and petrichor with arcanette, ori with oboro possibly)????? LIKE THEY ALL HATE EACH OTHER. ori fucking LOATHES harvey. she doesnt trust arcanette. harvey does nto care for any of them. only osvald matters! as if arcanette has any attachments here cmon.

like it kills me how they do give found family vibes but in the most horrid sense ever

[ellibean-icecream]

hey octopath tumblr. hypothetically if i were writing a coffee house octo 2 fic, what would partitio name his worker's coop coffee shop. hypothetically.

(will of course give credit for if someone comes up with a really good name)

[sun-marie]

What I really think media with ensemble casts, especially those in a traveling group of some kind, are missing are big, blow-out arguments between the group. Especially when there's a conflict of interests, I am such a sucker for when two or more characters disagree so strongly that they realize very little is actually holding them together as a group, and wonder if it's time to go their separate ways.

I feel like a lot of video games, specifically, just kind of assume once the traveling band is "complete", it's forced to stay together until the player expressly permits it, but I don't really find that very compelling and a lot of times it feels more like they're relying on some kind of immediately strong bond that hasn't really been earned. Which is a shame, because in my opinion one of the best ways to strengthen that bond is to have the characters disagree and argue. Maybe they realize they're only being superficially held together and so they temporarily split up, only to then realize how much they've come to care for the others in the group. Then they reunite, make-up, formulate a plan to go forward, and boom, the group bond is that much stronger. Or maybe they don't even split up, and maybe they never learn to like each other, but they decide whatever cause their working toward is more important. Something else, bigger than them, is holding them together.

It just feels like a lot of potential is going to waste to just skip straight to the intense found family bond, without earning it.

[elliewiltarwyn]

I! posted fanfic of my WoLs!! for the first time!!!

i really do have @sasslett and @ainyan (for organizing #FFXIVSwap) and @set2zero (for the adorable fic they wrote for Ellie and Minfilia for the swap) to thank for breaking the anxiety block in me that was keeping me from posting hehe. hopefully this is the first of a lot more!! ahhhhhhhhh

please take a look if you enjoy big girls being soft, panicked "OH SHIT I FORGOT MY PARTNER'S BIRTHDAY" moments, and domestic fluff! also here are the gposes I took when I had the initial realization that it was Mia's nameday.

[drabblesandimagines]

Little Lamb

Octopath Traveler II Yandere Temenos x (afab) reader

I just love this sassy cleric and know I'm the only one writing this pairing so I'll share it with the world.

All under the cut if this isn't your sort of thing! Thinking of making a side-blog for these darker things? I'm a weird hybrid fluff/yandere fan, apparently.

As soon as you hear the key in the lock, you try and bite back your sob in fear, but he always notices. "Oh, little lamb, not more tears." His voice echoes around the four stone walls, making you feel even more trapped than you already are.

You don't reply - you can't - he never leaves without tightening the folded habit – the very one that would be atop your head if you’d made it to your pledge - back around your mouth, making sure it sits snug. He says it's to ensure you honour a vow of silence until his return, but it doesn’t make sense. Who would you even speak to? No-one can hear you down here, he's assured you of that - though that didn’t stop you trying the first few days you were brought here, screaming and tugging at the manacles keeping your hands above your head, chained to the wall.. It seems even the Gods have abandoned you now.

You had been sent to Flamechurch to begin your studies ahead of taking your vow as a Sister of the Sacred Flame. He had been one of the first to greet you as you arrived, though you had to apologise for your ignorance of not having heard of him before, but he seemed to enjoy that. Everyone said it was such an honour that the Temenos Mistral had taken a personal interest in your spiritual journey. You liked him too - he was intelligent, quick-witted and made you question everything deeper than you ever had before, but, in the end, the lively debates only solidified your conviction to dedicate your life to the Church.

You were ready to take your vows, your senior Sisters in agreement, but Temenos insisted you hold off a little longer. You listened, of course you listened, you lapped up every bit of wisdom he bestowed upon you. He was so well esteemed and regarded by his peers and, even though something didn’t feel quite right deep down, surely if he was advising you to delay it would be nothing but an insult to disregard his advice and he must have a reason.

Now his reason is as clear as crystal and you wished you’d listened to your gut.

He wants to keep you all for himself.

He'd slipped something in the wine. Temenos often had a glass at your evening discussions and you only ever had a small glass where you partook, sometimes just a sip or two, so you knew something was off when your head started to swim mid-conversation. He had a condescending grin on his face when you tried to stumble up to your feet, crashing down to your knees as your limbs refused to co-operate. His boots entered your blurred field of vision before his hand crept around the back of your neck. "There, there, lamb, I've got you..." 

You'd woken up in this room - a store room deep beneath the Church where no-one came. It seemed he'd been setting it up in preparation for you, at least you hoped you were the first. It comprised of a bed, a table, an old sink and a section of the room covered by a screen, which he deemed the wash closet - it was a repurposed butter churn barrel of all things. He’d acquired two, so he can swap them in and out.

Besides, it wasn’t like you had the freedom to walk around - your hands chained to a hook above you when he wasn't there. When he was there, he'd release you - allowing you to relieve and wash yourself in privacy at least. Or as much as a wash you could manage with a large jug, bucket and cloth.

He'd bring fresh gowns too - white, pristine. He'd taken your old clothes away, so it was dress how he wanted or go without.

It’s hard to tell how long you’ve been down here. There’s no sunrise or sunset, just periods of sleep and two visits a day from your captor. He lights a long-burning candle on his morning visit, extinguishes it when he leaves at night. What did he tell the Sisters, the congregation – that you just decided it wasn’t for you and you’d gone home? They wouldn’t investigate – they’d take his word as gospel. Is he going to kill you?

Temenos has a bag in hand, as always - he brings you breakfast and supper. If you refused to eat, and you had a couple of times, he had his methods to get you to comply. He was never opposed to using his staff to get his message across, get what he wanted. He said he didn't enjoy hurting you, you were forcing his hand, it was the only way you’d learn. He’d only let you experience the pain for a little while because he would cast healing hand. Repeat.

He sets the bag down upon the table and walks over to you. You flinch back but there's nowhere to go, your back already pressed up against the wall as close as you can go, willing it to swallow you up. He smiles pitifully at you, leaning down besides you and wipes away some stray tears with his thumb.

"This is just a test of your faith, my lamb. You haven't forgotten our lessons already, have you?" You haven’t forgotten your lessons, but you still don’t understand what he means. What his justification is for keeping you down here.

He fingers slip into the knot at the back of your head and he loosens it, tugging the gag down before shaking it back out into the habit it should be, hanging it on the bedframe. Your mouth is so dry.

"Are you thirsty?"

You nod, but that’s wrong. His fingers are under your chin now, tilting your head up to him.

"Use your words, little lamb." He chides. It's confusing - demands for silence, demands for speech.

"Yes," your voice is hoarse. 

"Well, maybe if you didn't cry so much you wouldn't be." He chides.

You don’t know what to say to that. What does he want? What’s the point of this game? He tsks and goes over to the sink, filling up a goblet of water for you. He returns and sits down on the edge of the bed, holds it up your lips, as he always does. It’s humiliating, but you’re so thirsty and you drink it down greedily.

Once you drain the goblet dry, he pulls it away and smiles. “Better?”

You nod. “Thank you,” you add before he can tell you off.

“You are very welcome, my dear.” He takes the goblet back to the table and returns to your side, withdrawing the key from his tunic pocket and unlocks your wrists from the shackles at last. Your arms always feel weird at first when they’re let down after being held above your head for so long.

He takes your left arm and inspects your wrist, before moving on to the right arm.. At first, you’d pulled and pulled at the restraints hoping they’d give, but all you’d achieve was rubbing the skin raw and bloody. Temenos would chastise you, before healing with his stave. You never made any progress – if anything, your persistent efforts to pull yourself free of the restraints day after day only made you grow weaker. He fed you, yes, but it wasn’t much. Enough to keep starvation at bay, but the hunger still led you feeling weak, tired… subdued, compliant.

“No abrasions again. Good - you’re learning.”

Learning what? You want to spit out, but it won’t end well for you so you hold your tongue.

“Do you need to relieve yourself, lamb?”

That’s the most embarrassing thing of all, you think – that he makes you fulfil your bodily functions in that butter churn. A butter churn which he empties, apparently as a labour of his love.

You always say yes, though. It gets you a few moments away from his piercing gaze.

“Please.”

“Go on, then,” he nods. “Then we can have supper and start our lesson, hm?”

“Yes, Temenos.” You agree meekly, shuffling down the bed, away from him, before you stand, though your legs are wobbly from lack of use. You don’t want his hands on you though, so you brace yourself on the wall for a moment, gaining your balance, and go behind the blasted screen.

Supper is always the same affair – bread and grapes. Temenos never eats with you, probably permits himself a more varied diet, but he just watches. His hands clasped on the table, his staff leaning against his thigh, barely in sight, but enough to remind you it’s there and the power he wields.

You eat every last morsel he gives you, never really sure when he might remove the privilege. He could dictate that you’re going to fast, after all.

When you are finished, you take a glug of water from the goblet, place your hands in your lap and thank him. That’s important too. He reminds you to be grateful.

“My pleasure. Now, I thought we’d change things up a little tonight. You’ve been so well-behaved these past few days and you deserve a reward. You were so full of questions at first, weren’t you, little lamb?” That was true. He’d wanted to continue on your philosophical discussions, but you hadn’t played ball, demanding, screaming, questioning why he’d done this to you. He’d remained calm, as always, simply pushing the habit back in your mouth, silencing you, and talked. Temenos did always love the sound of his own voice.

“I was.” You agree.

“Do you still have those questions for me?”

You’re not sure of the answer he wants to this one. Usually, it’s best to agree with whatever he says, but it could be a trick. However, he said there was a reward…

“Well, do you?” He sounds bored now - you’ve kept him waiting too long.

“Yes.”

He smirks, leaving you wondering for a few moments if that was the wrong answer. “Then I am prepared to entertain a few. Question one is…?”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I thought that’d be obvious by now,” He chides. “To keep you safe, of course.”

“Safe from who?” The only person you wish you could be safe from was him.

“Everyone. You are such a sweet, naïve lamb – I couldn’t allow the wolves to feast on you. You’re too dear to me.”

“But you…” you swallow, “Surely you could’ve kept me safe in the Church, Temenos. We would’ve been working alongside each other, as we were.”

“They were going to send you away from me.” His eyes darkened. “I simply could not allow that to happen.”

“Who was?”

“The Church had decided your new post for when you’d taken your vows. You were going to be sent to Stormhail,” he says it as if it leaves a foul taste in his mouth, “to work at the Sacred Guard Headquarters. I could not allow that to happen. I could not keep you safe there.”

“That’s why you tried to dissuade me from taking the vows, so I wouldn’t go?”

He nods. “See, you do understand. But I knew I could only keep you from taking them for so long. It gave me enough time to set up this humble abode for you though.” He gestures around your prison. “I know you think my methods are harsh and unnecessary, but I lost a precious member of my flock before and I won’t allow it to happen again. Especially not to you, my little lamb.”

--

“Arms up.” He commands, perhaps a little softer than usual. You used to put up more of a fight, but it’s pointless. He always gets his way. So you comply, allow him to clasp the metal rings around your wrists – again. This time, though, he slackens the chains a little, allowing the tops of your arms to rest on the pillow rather than be strung up high above you. He knows you notice and smiles. “Obedience is rewarded and you’ve been such a good girl recently.”

Supper threatens to make a reappearance.

You expect him to gag you next, but he sits down on the edge of the bed, and clasps the side of your face with an open palm, forcing you to look at him.

“What’s on your mind, my dear?”

“Am I to stay here forever?” Your voice cracks.

He keeps a hold of your face as he leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead, ignoring your question.

“Now,” he tugs the habit from the bedframe and drapes it across his lap, folding it neatly length-wise into his desired purpose, readying it. “I want you to think a little about what we’ve discussed this evening, and then get some sleep. Open.”

You open your mouth immediately. He’d held your nose before when you hadn’t, waited until you’d gasped for air to stuff the dreaded thing in.

He tucks it neatly between your teeth, the heavy fabric pressing your tongue down. He moves your hair out of the way of the knot almost lovingly - if this act could be loving - before checking over his handiwork.

“May the Sacred Flame guide you.” He gets to his feet, blowing out the candle on the table as he passes, leaving you in darkness.

“Sweet dreams, little lamb.” You hear the door open and close, the lock clunking shut as always.

And you cry.

[postalninja]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Octopath Traveler II (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Castti Florenz/Osvald V. Vanstein Characters: Castti Florenz, Osvald V. Vanstein Additional Tags: Huddling For Warmth, Strangers to Lovers, canon adjacent, Vulnerability, Healing Sex, Woman on Top, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Late Night Conversations, mild spoilers for Castti chapter 1 and Osvald chapter 2 Summary:

While traveling through the Winterlands, Castti is caught of guard first by an unexpected blizzard, then by the discovery of a stranger lying unconscious in the snow. With the storm worsening and nightfall imminent, she must rely on her instincts as an apothecary to keep them both alive.