#rotborne

( ◦ ROTBORNE. )

time turns abstract when you have lived and died and lived again. it’s sands in an hourglass ( flip it over when you run out ), and it’s stars in the night sky ( too many, too bright to count ). aerith gainsborough does not keep track of the seconds and the minutes and the years that pass because they mean nothing to her. they signify nothing to her. she is a walking phantom; she is living ghost. she does not age the same years or breathe the same breaths or think the same thoughts that she once did before. and so, when life takes her away from the people she knows, it doesn’t occur to her just how long she’s been absent.

aylen crosswood stands before her, and, for just a moment, aerith remembers what it means to be mortal. she remembers the connections that bound her to the planet, to her heartbeat, to a destiny still yet to be revealed. she remembers that she’s supposed to do things like say goodbye, supposed to check in when the months drag long. but then — it’s a curious thing. if she were asked, she wouldn’t be able to say what she’s been up to.

a new question surfaces in the quiet: how many pockmarks are there on your memory?

its ok his friend just got murdered abt 8 months ago in his canon timeline hes falling down a slippery slope

WHAT

rotborne replied to your post

no i love it

  ❛I wasn’t kiddin’ about the drinks you know.❜ 

There’s displeasure ripe across his face, partnered with an obvious thread of exhaustion that all but demanded attention. A little alcohol could go a long way in such circumstances; but for a man far too used to the comforts that living in a bar brought, its absence was all the more felt.

  ❛Don’t go telling me you don’t have any hangin’ around.❜

He’s seen her tipsy on more than enough occasions to know she was no stranger to such luxuries.