Howdy! I'm double-posting this on ao3 here, so join us there as well!
I've had this fic in the works for a while, ever since stumbling upon the original postcard image (found under the cut--I couldn't find a link to the original tumblr post since it looks like it's been deleted.)
On Homes, Hearths, and Hearts
CHAPTER 1
Hey,
I used to live in this apartment. I’m drunk in Grandport, and it’s the only address I know.
Happy Holidays
Ophilia has lived here for nearly three months now and her only correspondence has been bills and the occasional card from people who loved her father. Imagine her surprise to find a postcard from an unknown sender. Ophilia flips it over and looks at the picture again: a nighttime view of the city, with the picturesque beaches and the ocean in the forefront. In the corner, stretched across the night sky and typed in big, bright red letters reads, Wish you were here!
She flips to the back.
That’s her address, all right. Written in a lovely script. She wouldn’t believe the sender was drunk in Grandport with handwriting that neat. Then again, Ophilia has only been drunk once in her life and the alcohol wasn’t the reason she was a mess.
Above the message, there is another address printed onto the postcard:
The LeMann Brewery
88 Wyndham St
Grandport, Coastlands
xxx.xxx.xxxx
Ophilia hopes the sender wasn’t alone for the holidays at this brewery. If they weren’t able to spend time with their family, maybe they decided to go out on the town with their friends instead. Grandport is such a big place.
Ophilia and Lianna went there once, several years ago now. The Archbishop had an important meeting with the diocese in Goldshore. Before they returned home to Flamesgrace, they stopped in the city to see the sights. Ophilia was too young to remember many details, but the sharp, salty taste of the ice cream they ate together still lingers. Lianna and their father didn’t like it, but Ophilia did. She remembers feeling the sting of disappointment. It would have been better if she hated the taste, too. It was yet further proof that Ophilia wasn’t really part of their family.
She doesn’t feel like that now, though. After all, it’s in all the newspapers and the funeral pamphlets: Archbishop Josef Clement is survived by his daughters, Lianna and Ophilia. It’s official. More official than her adoption papers. Everyone saw the obituary, after all. If there were any doubts that the Archbishop had two daughters, it’s gone now.
Does the sender have any siblings? Maybe, like Ophilia, they didn’t have any parents’ or grandparents’ homes to visit for the holidays and instead celebrated at the brewery with a brother or sister. In the movies, bars are always full of people–full of life, noise, joy. Maybe they didn’t feel alone at all and danced the night away. But why, then, were they thinking of home? Why would take the time to find a postcard, write this message, and send it back to the Flatlands?
Ophilia stands alone in her kitchen. The shadows in the room grow long as the sun dives deeper and deeper towards the horizon. The postcard doesn’t offer any new clues. No matter how many times she reads and rereads the message, it provides no closure. Ophilia carries the postcard five-and-half steps into her bedroom. She pins it to the corkboard hanging beside her bed. She’ll think more on this later, when the hour isn’t so late. She works an opening shift tomorrow.
The popcorn ceiling stares back at her as she settles into bed and clasps her hands together. Ophilia prays with her eyes wide open. She asks Aelfric to help her, but she doesn’t know how to word it more specifically. All of her years of praying, and it’s like all the right words have escaped her. Maybe she’s just too tired. With a sigh, she sticks a pin in this too and resolves to try again tomorrow.
Aelfric will be patient with her.
She’s been very patient with him, after all.
—
Primrose wakes in stages. She becomes aware of an arm thrown across her middle, a stomach pressed against her back, a huff of hot, moist breath at her scalp. Next, the bright midday sun registers. Primrose squints at the curtains, carelessly half-shut some time between shuffling inside the motel and getting down to business between the sheets. Well. Perhaps “business” isn’t the most accurate word anymore. She just traded free drinks and a free motel room for a night with some random nobody named Thad. Or maybe it was Chad? Brad?
Doesn’t matter. She won’t be here long enough to ask.
With expert ease, she shifts free from his sweaty grasp and starts hunting for her clothes and effects. She finds her wallet, checks that her cards and cash are still in place. Then she locates and tugs Thad-Chad-Brad’s hoodie over her head. She finds her cell phone and reads a single text: breakfast in 229.
Outside, a warm, salty breeze brushes past Primrose. Ugh. Smells like a steakhouse out here. Her stomach mournfully growls. Therion better have something good waiting for her.
The motel is one hell of a liminal space. Primrose feels like the last woman on earth. Loneliness is a hound that bites at her ankles. She can almost hear it snarling and growling behind her as she hunts for his godsdamn room. She has heeded its call too much this week. The drunken benders, the men, that postcard–
Primrose irritably tosses the hood over her hair and tugs on the strings, cinching it around her face. If only she had some sunglasses. This sun is hell on her bloodshot eyes. Her head is pounding. She finds the right room and rams her shoulder against the cool door frame. She knocks once and mumbles, “Open the door.”
Approximately one million hangover years later, he finally graces her with his presence. “’Bout time,” Therion mutters. “Food’s cold.”
“Then warm it up,” she pathetically demands, slugging inside after him. His room is identical to the one she woke up in, except it smells like stale cigarette smoke and the AC is cranked up to the max. Shivering, Primrose stumbles to the controls and turns it back to a more manageable number. Gods, it’s no wonder the food got cold.
She steals the only water bottle (half empty) in a minifridge full of beer and starfishes out on the bed, tugging the pillow over her face. “Where are we going after this?” she muffles into the cheap fluff.
“I dunno,” he helpfully answers. The microwave hums with a concerning whine. “Your turn to pick.”
It is her turn, isn’t it. Even now, as hungover and hungry as she is, Primrose takes a moment to savor the concept of choice. It’s nice. It’s also a little terrifying. She spent the last ten years slaving towards a goal, sacrificing everything she had to give in order to see it through. She did what she had to do, regardless of whether she wanted it or not. Sometimes Primrose thinks she doesn’t know how to want anymore. Sometimes, she thinks she’s less of a person and more of a force of nature–after all, a hurricane does not choose which path it takes when it destroys and destroys and destroys.
“Hey. Wake up. You want breakfast or not?” Therion asks, kicking the bed to jostle her.
“I’m not asleep,” Primrose snaps. She sits up, glares at his unimpressed stare, and accepts a paper plate of leftover chicken nuggets. If one is charitable enough to call this chicken. “Therion, what the hell is this?”
He crosses his arms, prideful to a fault. And this is absolutely a fault. “Breakfast. Where are we going? I need to check out and get gas. I’ll grab a map at the gas station.”
Primrose had to find the most uncivilized–
She sighs, mentally cutting herself off. She’s stuck with Therion like he’s stuck with her. They are, unfortunately, too codependent at this point to seek other arrangements. Besides, he has a car (the legality of which she will not question) and seems just as eager as she is to run away from his ghosts.
So, Primrose makes a choice. It isn’t a very good one, but that’s a high in and of itself. “I want to go to Noblecourt,” she says. She imperiously samples a chicken nugget. It’s disgusting. But perhaps that’s fitting.
Therion may have an atrocious palate and the manners of a five year old raised in the wild by a pack of ratkin, but there is something to say about his occasional fits of empathy. He halts at the door, keys in hand, and frowns. “Can you handle that?” he asks.
She almost cringes at the gentle sincerity in his voice. Primrose is made of sterner stuff than that, though. She nods. Therion examines her face a moment, then mirrors her nod.
“Okay. We’ll make for Noblecourt. Don’t change your mind while I’m gone,” he says, pointing the motel card key at her.
She toasts him with a chicken nugget. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’m already thinking up the itinerary.”
And just like that, Primrose is homebound. Hopefully things will be better this time around. She doesn’t see how it could be any worse, but Primrose knows better than to jinx herself. Any situation can very easily go tits up and, in her experience, it often does.
But she’s trying optimism for a change. She’s choosing optimism.
Primrose is long overdue for a happy ending, after all.
Woah I am totally late on this one… but for good reason! I finally finished one of my planned pieces!!! So this was supposed to be the summer prompt with Prim and Ophelia, and I wanted to try a new coloring style :DD!! Hehe I love cute picnic date scenes (´▽｀) oh almost forgor to mention! This was for Octopath femslash week…. But it’s already past now ;w;
Octopath Traveler as a game has a wonderful cast of characters, many of which are women. As a lesbian myself, I have found the game wonderful in allowing me to engage with content of women loving women.
The purpose of this blog is to create a general repository of the different wlw ships from Octopath Traveler. I aim to post/rb fanart, fan fic, headcanons, etc, related to Octopath femslash.
Additionally, content for this blog will be focused on the women of the game. Not all content rb/posted here will be ship-related.
In terms of shipping, featured ships will be chosen thoughtfully and with care. No minor/adult ships will be featured, as well as no ships with abuse or incest.
Main ships include any of the following:
- H’aanit/Primrose (H’aanirose)
- H’aanit/Ophilia (H’aanilia)
- Primrose/Ophilia (Primphilia)
- Primrose/Yusufa (Primsufa)
- Tressa/Noa (Tressnoa)
- etc, esp femslash rarepairs
Okay, that’s about it. If anyone has questions or suggestions, the ask box is open!
