bday dance for the bday boy

you’re doing your best gerome

happy birthday to my fave fea child :^)

her little dancer!

his hair got longer

SEND ME A FANDOM AND I’LL TELL YOU A CHARACTER  I’D ROLEPLAY FROM THAT FANDOM.

     He is not nearly as subtle as he wishes to be. Or, perhaps, the issue lays with the fact that she is much more observant than he might have anticipated. She let’s the facade of his feelings run it’s course, the clumsy account of a princess who held love for another who seemed to cause him obvious conflict, and it’s really all to blatant to her what is happening. Her own love life was not always so perfect on account of her own oblviousness and fear but she paid careful attention to her soldiers, her comrades, for clear heads were the best asset in war.

     What can she do but hasten a knowing laugh, a show of mirth in her understanding of his plight, before gesturing to the empty seat across her table lined with tomes and maps, parchments filled with her scrawl and a couple lit candles. She will allow him the pretense of who this other party is, the boy with ‘magnificent’ orange hair, but Robin speaks directly. Her advice can fall under no pretenses after having hidden emotions from herself long enough. “Well, Inigo, I believe that you have fallen victim to the issue of making things more complicated than they need to be.” She was not one who should oft be asked about love but with one of her own, she had grown a little more insight.

     “It is clear you know your emotions, despite the way you fumble with them, and what is smartest is to make them known to this person, even if you must face rejection, so that you do not keep it locked away inside of you like some secret.” For it would bubble up eventually, this she knew well.

She laughs and welcomes him to an empty seat at the table littered with all sorts of parchment and Inigo is really looking forward to burying himself in a hole.  Cornered and trapped, Inigo steps forward and tentatively takes a seat, staring very hard at the floor.

Somehow ... SOMEHOW, Robin knows he’s not really talking about a princess and that he’s talking about himself.  Amazing really, Inigo has no idea how she does it.  Really, what gave it away? - Oh, right.  He’s supposed to be listening to her relationship advice.

Defeated, he sighs, leaning into his chair.  “I - I ... mean ... how can love be so ...painful?”  He can’t marry Gerome.  In fact, it’s most likely his sister that will marry him.  After all, she is just as fond of him as he is.  He’s not even sure if Gerome feels similarly about him as he does.  “...Isn’t it hopeless for this ... princess?”  Rejection or not, what’s the point?

            “USE YOUR HEAD PROPERLY FOR ONCE,” the tactician snapped, closing the book and reaching instead for a new one. “To go on a date with you would mean to spend a whole day in your presence. So even if you leave me alone after that, that trauma is still going to haunt me for the rest of my life.”

He shuffled under some papers, pulling out an entirely different tome and flipping through the pages, a finger pressed against the lines of text.

And he paused, letting the sound of flipping pages echo in the tent, before he came to a halt.

            “BUT at this point, even I know when it’s tactically advantageous to admit defeat.”

            “WHEN do you want to meet up?”

Just as he expected.  Another failure.  Oh, well.  At least he tried.  Better luck next time, Inigo.  There are plenty of other fish in the sea - wait, what.  ...Did the tactician just agree to meet up on a date with him?  Inigo’s suddenly not sure if he heard him correctly.  Is the tactician perhaps playing a prank on him?  This can’t actually be happening.  ...Can it?

Incredulous, he stands in the doorway, jaw dropped only to close it swiftly and hurriedly think of a proper date destination.  Place, time, place, time, place, time, place - ah, perfect!  “Ah, w-well, there’s this festival at the town square that I thought might be ...kind of fun?”  Oh, no.  What if it’s stupid?  What if it’s a really stupid idea?  Aevus might hate it - “O-Or I mean, we can do - “  No, that’s a terrible idea.  “Or this?  Or maybe something like - “  He’s really got to keep his cool.  “...Festival.  This Saturday.  At 4′o’clock.  Sound a-a-alright?”

    ♫♪… She peers up at him, her son, so big and brave even with all the hurt plaguing his soul. The burdens he had been carrying, the regret and worry over her, she would be selfish not to hear it all out… but it would be worse not to let him be weak awhile. So long has he had to be so strong in her absence, to live with the pain of her parting, she would be strong too now, she had desired it for so long for herself and now Inigo was here to give her an even better reason. She squeezes his hands, one comforting gesture, before one releases to cup his cheek, to play agile, tiny fingers in the softness of his hair. Her other hand remains tight around his, she must remind him she is here now, she won’t give up so easily. 

     ❝I understand your fears, Inigo, of course I do. I share in them… I regret so much that I hadn’t been able to be strong for you. I’ve always been so weak.❞ She wants to look down, to let her soul fill with sorrow, it is evident in her face, but she keeps her posture– warm, welcoming, and confident– refusing to give in. ❝But I’m not now, I have been fighting so hard, working so much to be better, to be a someone who could protect herself– and now a mother who could protect her son until the ends of the earth.❞ And she would not give up, no matter how much she faltered. Comrades and friends helped her train, she fought as fearlessly as someone so fearful could, summoning all the strength she could muster. Now she pulls him into her chest, despite the height he held over her.

     ❝You’ve made me so proud, you are so strong, but now we need to be strong together. You won’t lose me this time, I swear it, and I will not let harm come to you either.❞     

He doesn’t know.  Does he dare make a mistake?  Could telling her really be so terrible?  Hands squeezed by smaller hands, he sighs against the hand against his cheek.  It really is so difficult to deny his mother of anything she desires.  Maybe, just maybe ... he looks at her soundlessly, simply watching how supportive she wants to be of him.  Truly, he could never ask for a better mother in the entire world.  As he listens to the soft lilt of his mother’s voice, he cracks a small smile, unable not to.  And he looks to the sky in defeat.  “Oh, Mother.  You win again.  I’m afraid you always do,” he sighs.

If worst should come to worst, he owes he will sacrifice his life for his mother.  He will be reborn in a different universe; she will not.  Her life is much more important than his.  It is his decision made.

He can’t bring himself to look her in the eye.  “I ... well, I’ll spare you all of the details, but ... Father died in battle.  He was overwhelmed.  And you were taking care of me back home.”  He pretends the memory is not a memory; instead, it is nothing more than a horrific fairytale.  Something he made up.  In this world, it might as well be.  “Of course, Father ... he ... never came home and ...you were left to fend for me.  You ... you died protecting me right in front of my eyes, Mother.”  And he has never forgotten the day since.

“The world is not worth saving if you are not in it.”

    ♫♪… His words cause the beat of her heart to quicken, a sort of fear to spark up in her, for the prospect of losing him never seemed so real and she wasn’t sure if her worlds could halt him from leaving. If anything, she was sure that they would not. Such sorrow was in his heart and no matter how she reached for him, held him close, she did not control this matter, it was in his hands. 

      Though he is in her arms now, it becomes filled with such sweet sadness. Would this be their last embrace? She hated such a prospect.

     Hands are gentle but she holds him closer now, a soft cry, a mark of hurt bubbles to the surface and escapes her lips. She knows he has heard, has felt it even, and she wishes he did not. For him to think he has caused her sorrow is the very worst of it.

     When she was younger, she could hardly imagine getting married, finding true love, let alone having a son. When it become a reality, she was astounded and to this day, she couldn’t believe the utter luck she had in giving life to someone such as Inigo. For whatever faults he may have projected, never could she have asked for anyone sweeter, more passionate and giving than he. There was nothing she found wrong in him other than the wounds he had to carry because she’d been unable to protect him in another time.

     ❝Inigo…❞ Her voice is shaky. Should she plead? ❝Regardless of all that, you are my son too. Do you truly believe I would not have love enough for the both of you?❞ But she knows this is futile. His mind was made and he always was stubborn when it came to what he wanted, driven much in the way she had been.

     Pulling back enough to meet his eyes, she nods, even if the willpower to summon such a gesture is greater than what she knows.

      ❝I understand your choice and I will not stop you but…❞ the tears prick. This may be the hardest thing she has ever done and to will the rest of her words forward, she looks to the ground for a minute, summons courage she often lacked, and faces him once more. ❝You know I will always love you with the intensity of the very sun shining above our heads but I must request something more of you.❞ One hand lifts, cups his cheek as steadily as she can muster.

     ❝If you can, return to me someday… and do not leave just yet. I will not make a spectacle of it but if you are to leave then our goodbyes must be made properly. Please.❞

Mind settled, Inigo finds the decision made surprisingly easier.  Existing elsewhere will be better; of this, he is convinced.  He is a man now.  He must find his own purpose.  War is over, but there are other worlds to save.  Inigo cannot continue to exist between this world and his future.  “Mother, this is of no fault of your own, but I want you to devote the entirety of your heart to your child, to me,” he smiles, cheerful as ever, as he reaches forward to tuck a loose lock of hair behind his mother’s ear.  

“I may travel the world, but I will always be with you,” he reassures her as he gazes upon the little prince in her lap.  “You will watch me grow into the man I am today, into the man I will one day be,” he sighs, but he dares not touch the infant as much as he’d like to.  “Watch me walk into your arms for the first time, listen to me call for you, plant a new field of flowers with me and teach me to love as I have passionately loved you, Mother mine,” he laughs, “Do all of these things and more.  Don’t be sad; I’m in your arms at this moment.”  The future really is strange, huh?  He wonders what awaits him in another world.

Can he return to his mother?  He does not know.  He doesn’t want to promise her something that is so indefinite, but how could he tell his mother that this will be the last she ever sees of him?  Inigo smiles ruefully as he holds one of his mother’s hands in his, the expression warm.  “Of course, I will come back to you someday.”  He lies.  “Perhaps, I’ll bring somebody of my own.”  Wouldn’t that be something?  “Perhaps, I will show you the places I have traveled and the things I have learned.”  He does not look her in the eye when he tells her these things.  He knows he might never see her again.

“Mother, may I have something of yours to remember you by?”