“I don’t want to think anymore,” she says, simply, and her voice comes out a little more raw and cracked than she intended. “Please.”
And Thyme makes a comforting, acquiescent little noise deep in her chest that sounds just a little heartbroken, and she presses a kiss to the crown of her head.
And the song goes on, and it goes like this:
sometimes, roe needs to get out of her head for a little while.
- Part 11 of parsley, sage
Curious, you lean in closer to inspect the bedraggled little book. Written in a bold, childish scrawl, the cover proudly proclaims:
Daybook of Boombox Boogiefeets - For eyes of Boombox ONLY!!!
Sneakypeeking uplanders will be punished with entire wrath of gobbiekind brought to bear!!!!
…Interesting. Suddenly, you find yourself accosted by a mighty foe, indeed: a classic moral dilemma.
…Will you read further?
the warrior of light takes it upon themself to learn a thing or two about the ironworks team’s newest hire... by reading her diary. naturally.
It is very late at night. Cold rain, almost sleet, beats against the nearby window, and were Thyme on her own tonight she would surely find it far too chilly and unpleasant for her liking. But a little fire crackles quietly in the nearby hearth, the bed in Roe's apartment is piled high with soft down pillows and silken sheets, and Roe, of course, is there, tucked against her body and warming her from head to toe. The day was stressful, and the evening was fraught, but the night—this they have all to themselves.
the girls spend a cozy night in roe's apartment.
- Part 6 of parsley, sage
Roe reaches behind her with one hand, blindly grabbing at something. “I brought home one more thing: a surprise. You’ll like this.”
With a smile, she holds something up: in her hand is a narrow, rectangular box, made of white paper, about the size of a deck of cards. Curiously, Thyme lifts the lid to reveal about a dozen of what appear to be baked… sticks? They could almost be incense sticks, but they’re fatter and rounder, and the texture doesn’t look right, either.
Thyme raises a brow. “Are these… edible?” she asks.
thyme learns about a time-honored source tradition. written in celebration of pocky day!
- Part 8 of parsley, sage
Part of me knows that much time has passed; there is no way for us to know how long, of course. And there’s no point in thinking of how we came to be here, my darling, but you know how my mind is prone to wander.
a bad ending.
- Part 4 of parsley, sage
love, lay me down under grass &
sunlight, and touch me [right here]
and here and here, where the ache
& hurt have gone to nest.
[(now again)] my fingers will find
yours, tangle & sweeten the air,
and the birds will cry [for]
us alone. // a.s.w., expansion on sappho's fragment 83
a collection of writings on my ffxiv ocs, rosemary wilds and thyme meadows—mostly standalone oneshots, but arranged in something approaching chronological order. their story begins shortly after the beginning of shadowbringers, and as such I reference msq here and there. please be wary of spoilers!