“What time is it?” Roe’s voice is thick and gravely.
“Still early.” Thyme shifts, settles her head back onto the pillow, nuzzles close so her forehead just grazes against Roe’s temple. “Before sunrise,” she says, and Roe huffs out a tiny little sigh.
“Gods,” Roe breathes. She shuts her eyes again. “I thought that was it,” she says, so soft it’s almost inaudible—and she doesn’t speak again, but her meaning is still clear: I thought we were out of time. And Thyme doesn’t say anything back, because she can’t, because her throat feels tight and sharp like there’s a knife plunged through it.
rosemary and thyme, the night before a departure.
- Part 14 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.
That morning we left, when I kissed you and I told you I’d be back, I was sure I would. It wasn’t quite in the way we’d wanted at the time, of course, in the end. But I suppose my luck had to run out sometime.
a bad ending.
- Part 6 of parsley, sage
“Chamomile,” Thyme says, and Roe pulls such a face as she looks down at her mug, like a child staring down the plate of boiled sprouts standing between her and dessert, “because you need to rest. When was the last time you slept through the night?”
“Recently,” Roe grumbles. “Few days ago. I think.”
Thyme folds her arms. “Mhm.”
“I’m fine, Tee,” Roe says, but it comes out half-hearted, as though she knows Thyme can see bright neon lettering that says LIAR flashing over her head. “Really.”
“I can be fine and exhausted.”
“That is not how that works.”
in which roe is horrible at self care, and thyme concocts a plan.
- Part 13 of parsley, sage
Roe suddenly has an idea—a very obvious idea, in hindsight. And as it is often wont to do, her mouth boldly charges ahead before her brain can entirely catch up. “Actually, Tee,” she starts.
“Do you think it would be helpful if I, uh… lent you a hand?”
(The play on words isn’t actually intentional, but Roe gives herself a mental high-five for it anyway.)
Thyme huffs out a laugh in the general direction of the ceiling. “My goodness. Am I too lust-addled to hear you properly, or are you trying to seduce me?”
in which roe swings by thyme's apartment unannounced, and thyme teaches her a thing or two.
- Part 4 of parsley, sage
“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 12 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!