#no animosity or friendship

[agenericplaceholdername]

One of my favorite scenes in Part 2

[pokemonblack3white3]

[tidetower]

My only love sprung from my only hate!

Too early seen unknown, and known too late!

Prodigious birth of love it is to me

That I must love a loathed enemy.

A Romeo & Juliet inspired art of Addam & Daeron by jurimaart

[finleycannotdraw]

Goldenheart question. Who do you think proposes? Ballister or Ambrosius?

Bonus on how they would do it? ✌️🌈

OKAY SO. I thought about this for like five minutes. decided something. and then I changed my mind like five times. and then I was like “hmm. fic time”

I know you just asked for my thoughts but I hope you enjoy this!!

Ballister had a plan.

He loved Ambrosius. Of course he did. He’d loved him when they were classmates at the Institute, loved him when they snuck onto the roof at night to talk, loved him when they became knights, and loved him when the wall came down. He’d loved him for as long as he could remember, so of course he loved him when he looked up from his crossword puzzle and saw Ambrosius dancing in the kitchen, wearing a pair of Ballister’s pajama pants, holding a pancake batter-covered spatula and looking more carefree than he’d looked in months.

He’d marry Ambrosius in a heartbeat. He’d get on a train right then and elope with him if he asked, but he thought his partner deserved something bigger, something romantic, something grand and joyful after all of the stress and responsibility he’d been shouldering since the Director’s demise.

Hence, The Plan.

Nimona had been… mostly helpful. Ballister approached her one afternoon, after Ambrosius had left for work, and sat down across from her. Since the three of them had moved into an apartment together, Nimona had gotten much more comfortable relaxing, which warmed Ballister’s heart.

“What’s up, boss?”

“I want to ask Ambrosius—” he began, and Nimona sat up straight, immediately invested.

“To marry you?” she exclaimed. “Yes. Do it. Why haven’t you done it already.”

Ballister blinked. “I thought you’d be more hesitant about this,” he said slowly. “You used to hate him.”

Nimona waved her hand dismissively. “Ehhh. The past is the past, and all that jazz. Speaking of jazz—”

“No.”

“Ugh, whatever. You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“You’re horrible. Anyway, I hated him when all I knew about him was that he cut off your arm. That was before I’d lived with you guys for a year. And it would be pretty hypocritical of me not to be open to changing my opinions about somebody. He makes you happy. You should totally marry him.”

Ballister smiled. “Thank you, Nimona.”

She scoffed affectionately. “Sure, boss.”

And a plan—namely, The Plan, which was the whole point—formed.

Nimona and Ballister flew all over the city looking for parks and possible activities, such as restaurants or shows. Most people had gotten fairly used to the pair of them flying around, Nimona sprouting wings and carrying Ballister above the streets, so they didn’t worry about staying out of sight.

If Ambrosius noticed or thought it was suspicious that Nimona and Ballister constantly went out together and didn’t talk to him about any of it, he didn’t comment. The three of them still had their movie nights and game nights, and Nimona and Ambrosius still had their terrifyingly intense card games (War, Go Fish, Crazy Eights, and several games Ballister had never heard of) that Ballister was forbidden from joining, so altogether not much had changed.

One thing that did change, though, was how often he paused, watched Ambrosius do something completely ordinary, and thought ‘I want to marry this man.’ It happened more and more with each passing day, until Ballister very nearly proposed to him when he walked into the apartment and found Ambrosius standing with his feet on two separate chairs, about three feet apart, holding a collection of colorful paper streamers above his head while Nimona, in the form of a small monkey, perched on the top of his head and put them in place on the wall.

Ballister stared at them for a long moment before he said, very confusedly: “There wasn’t a more efficient way to do this?”

Ambrosius and Nimona turned at the same time, both looking quite delighted despite their precarious position atop the chairs.

“We’re just mixing it up!” they both replied. Ballister looked around. The living room was covered in party decorations and newspaper, and Ballister thought he’d never seen more glitter in his life. He pictured Ambrosius buying a basket full of glitter for whatever party Nimona was planning on throwing, and wouldn’t have been surprised if his heart actually melted.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked.

“I asked Nimona when her birthday was,” Ambrosius explained. “She said she didn’t have one.”

“And if I do, I don’t remember when it is,” Nimona added. Ambrosius threw his hands out to the sides in an emphasizing gesture.

“Which means she’s never had a birthday party,” he continued. “So we decided that today’s her birthday and we’re having a party.”

“Which is just going to be like a normal night except with decorations,” Nimona said. “The glitter was Goldilocks’ idea.”

Ballister raised his eyebrows, and Ambrosius shrugged unabashedly, then turned back to finish putting up the streamers.

Marry me, Ballister thought.

Within the next week, he had everything figured out. He’d looked at the weather for the next few days, planned where they’d go and when, and had even bought a ring, which he’d hidden in his extra pair of running shoes and shoved under the bed. If Ambrosius noticed that Ballister seemed extra nervous or more likely to become agitated if he spent too long in the bedroom by himself, he didn’t comment.

So yes. Ballister had a plan, and it was much more concrete than ‘something something something, we win’. He didn’t have a script, but he had just about everything else. Nothing could possibly get in his way now.

Or so he thought.

One night—there was nothing particularly special about it; they’d had dinner with Nimona, danced and laughed while cleaning the kitchen, and kissed while getting ready for bed—Ballister and Ambrosius were snuggled up together under their blankets. Ballister’s prosthetic arm was hanging from its charger on the wall, so he couldn’t hold Ambrosius as close as he would’ve liked, but the blond knight was lying with his head on Ballister’s shoulder, which gave him room to wrap his left arm around his partner’s back.

Ambrosius moved to tangle his legs with Ballister’s and gave his middle a squeeze, causing Ballister to smile up at the dark ceiling. If he paid attention, he could hear quiet music through the walls from Nimona’s room, and the moon was shining brightly through the window. Ballister carded his fingers through Ambrosius’ hair and breathed deeply.

Ambrosius, after several minutes, pushed himself up onto his elbow so that he could see Ballister’s face. Ballister’s arm slid naturally to rest around his waist, and he wished he had his prosthetic so that he could tap Ambrosius on the nose. Whenever he did so, Ambrosius’ face would scrunch up in the most adorable way possible, and Ballister had no choice but to kiss him.

“Hey,” Ambrosius whispered, as though Ballister hadn’t already been giving him his full attention.

“Hi,” he said in the same quiet tone, and matched Ambrosius’ answering smile. They bumped their noses together and giggled, and Ambrosius flopped to the side, landing on his own pillow. Ballister freed his arm and laced their fingers together, and Ambrosius brought their joined hands to his lips, then rested them on his chest and stroked Ballister’s hand with his thumb.

“Bal?” he said, tilting his head to the side to look into Ballister’s eyes, which he was quite honestly struggling to keep open.

“Hm?”

“Will you marry me?” Ambrosius asked softly, simply, his gaze full of love, exactly the way Ballister had been fighting the urge to ask him for weeks.

“Oh, come on!” he exclaimed, and got out of bed to grab the ring box from his shoe, forgetting that Ambrosius had no idea what he was doing until he sat up, looking worried.

“Bal?” he said again, this time much more guarded. “I’m sorry, what—”

“I was going to propose to you!” Ballister interrupted, opened the box, and shoved it towards his gobsmacked partner, who stared at it in utter shock before looking back to Ballister’s eyes. “I had a plan! And it wasn’t ‘something something something, we win’!”

Ambrosius’ eyes were shiny. “Was it more like, ‘something something something, marry me?’”

Ballister laughed surprisedly and leaned over to plant a kiss on Ambrosius’ lips. “Yes,” he said. “Well, no. I didn’t have a speech.”

“Hence the something-something-something,” Ambrosius teased. “You know, you never answered my—”

“Yes, good Gloreth, yes, I’ll marry you,” Ballister interrupted again. “Though I think you could’ve inferred that from learning that I was going to ask you the same question.”

Ambrosius laughed tearfully, and Ballister kissed him again.

“I’m not taking your last name, though,” he added moments later. “As funny as it is.”

“Nimona would kill you,” Ambrosius agreed. “So would I, probably. I don’t want to keep my last name either. It made for some good jokes, but other than that—”

“Well, Boldheart is nice, but it wasn’t my birth name. You know the Queen gave it to me at the ceremony because somebody—probably the Director—said that Blackheart sounded too dark for a knight?”

“Right,” Ambrosius mused. “What should we do, then?”

“We could combine our last names,” Ballister suggested. “We could be Ambrosius and Ballister—”

“Goldenheart,” Ambrosius finished, and wrapped his arms around Ballister, shaking with laughter, tears, and joy. “I love it.”

“I love you,” Ballister told him, and there was very little talking for the rest of the night.

When morning came, they headed into the kitchen in their pajamas and found Nimona already up, sitting at the table with her headphones on. She appeared to be drawing—likely another action scene with herself as a large animal with Ballister and/or Ambrosius as her murderous accomplice—and didn’t look up as they entered.

“Morning, Nim,” Ambrosius said as he made his way to the coffee machine.

“Goldilocks.” She acknowledged him with a nod, then raised her eyebrows. “Sleep well?”

Ballister held his crossword puzzle up and hid his face behind it while Ambrosius nearly dropped the coffee pot. They both knew that Nimona was over a thousand years old and there was probably very little she hadn’t seen, and even less she wasn’t aware of, but she was so good at acting like a teenager that it was quite easy to forget. She watched their awkward reactions and snickered, but her eyes widened as her attention zeroed in on something on or beside Ambrosius’ hand.

“So, who snapped first?” she asked pleasantly, a wide grin forming on her face.

“Me,” Ambrosius admitted without turning around. “Wait. Who snapped first? You knew he was planning—”

“You knew he was—” Ballister began too, and they both stopped and stared at each other.

Nimona just burst out laughing.

[corxoran]

I like to think about norton and edgar interacting bcs it's not that they WOULDN'T get along but they both have the idgaf disease so they would kind of exist around each other n not think about it.

Eye contact every now and then. They acknowledge the other's existence but dgaf.

I like to think that whenever they actually have to speak they kind of have staring contests until someone gaf enough to talk LMFAOO

They're also kind of passive aggressive to each other but the dgaf disease is so strong they never actually get mad. They're just so blunt, both of them. Not friends necessarily, but definitely not enemies.

Like they're pretty fucking rude to each other (mostly edgar probably let's be honest) but then they just forget about it.

They would be arguing (in that kinda deadpan way u know) and edgar would be like "ok at least I'm not constantly covered in DIRT you fucking MOLE" and norton would just angrily dust himself off bcs HE KNOWS THAT BITCH IS RIIIGHT HAHAAA HE CAN'T EVEN ARGUEEEE and then they'd be chillin again

Norton is also naturally funny to edgar but like in a mean way. He laughs AT norton, not with him (norton don't be out here laughin anyway, ain't nothin in his life to laugh about). Edgar finds his dumb and pathetic nature humorous.

[fideidefenswhore]

Was the young Henry VIII a very friendly and gentle person?

Assuming you mean on a personal level (since, obviously...ordering executions is not especially 'gentle'), that seems to be the general judgement. There's not actually much variation from it from 1509-20s, foreign observers extol his gentleness and generosity and piety throughout the early 1530s, their only specific criticism there is that he's enthralled with a woman of 'bad character' (shorthand for 'low birth').

'the kindest of princes' (Cranmer, 1526) ‘a man of gentle friendliness, and gentle in debate; he acts more like a companion than a king’ (Erasmus, 1529) 'affable and gracious, harmed no one' (Venetian ambassador, 1519) 'He is kind and affable, full of graciousness and courtesy, and liberal; particularly so to men of science (virtuosi) whom he is never weary of obliging.' (Venetian ambassador, 1531)

There's some interesting post-contemporary observations on this matter, too (that have to be considered more doubtful since they're more influenced by hindsight and sometimes, by partisanship); such as:

"her Majesty's father, though otherwise the most gentle and affable prince in the world, could not abide to have any man stare in his face; or to fix his eye too steadily upon him when he talked with them".

And while I won't arm-chair, body-language 'science', pop psych-analyze that one (search results yield that specific source quote to 'narcissism' discussion), since it's neuroableist particularly to suggest an inability to maintain eye contact is indicative of innate deceit/dishonesty ...it is an interesting observation, considering how long he was in the public eye.

'Otherwise' gentle and affable is what's interesting about this remark, really, because are gentleness and friendliness mutually exclusive with a certain self-consciousness? I don't think so, and I wonder if this manifested particularly once he got to the point in a public ceremony/spectacle where he became overwhelmed by the attention and scrutiny, it is not typically how he's thought of but it's such a specific observation connected (but 'contrasting') those specific traits you asked of, I thought it was worth mentioning.

Mantel touched on this,

‘The burden of kingship,’ he says, ‘no man can imagine it. All my life, to be a prince: to be observed to be a prince; all eyes to be set on me; to be an exemplar of virtue, of discretion, of excellence in learning; to have a mind young and vigorous yet as wise as Solomon; to take pleasure in what others have designed for my pleasure, or be thought ungrateful; to discipline all my appetites, to unmake myself as a man in order to make myself as a king; to waste not a minute lest I be seen to waste it; for idleness, no excuses; always alert to prove, always to show, that I am worthy of the place God appointed me … When I was a young man I suppose I showed the calf of my leg to an ambassador and said, “There, has your French king a calf as good as that?” And my words were reported, and all Europe laughed at me, a vain idle boy, and no doubt people laugh still. But being young I asked myself, if God had formed François better than me, which prince did He favour most?’

And I also thought Mantel touched on this (although I can't find it in my highlights atm, so maybe I'm misremembering); I distinctly remember this scene...where somebody is recalling, as Duke of York, Henry was placed on a pony or horse when he's only two or three years old, and this is really his first public appearance, and he's reported to have acquitted himself well, to have been charming and gracious and graceful, even then...but even then, there was always this dark spectre. The timing of his ennoblement as Duke of York was chosen with purpose, it was in the shadow of a pretender. Was there a sense of unease, even then, that he couldn't articulate until later: that behind every smile, could be a knife?

'[Henry VII]'s children grew up in a world of threats, intrigue, and paranoia', '[Prince Henry]'s earliest years were as emotionally insecure as his father's reign was politically uncertain', '"he is so subjugated that he does not speak a word except in response to what the king asks him"'; again, the latter does not match the gregarious (perhaps even, more self-fashioned than natural) personality he's recorded as having as an adult.

The possibility that he oscillated between two opposite settings, and adapted accordingly, back to back (relative isolation and circumspection, to complete immersion in public celebration and celebrity and grandiose openness/friendliness); could account for the contradiction of an "affable" young man that gradually became uncomfortable with the level of scrutiny to which he was held, and maybe even modulated his habit and outward persona to fit what was expected of a king.

[princess-of-morkva]

M&M means Mischief and Magic

[noianoranoia]

simon & garfunkel man. what the fuck

[fooltofancy]

because i was eyebrow deep in sb patch bullshit (beloved) yesterday after crawling out of shb bullshit (beloved) last week am not exaxtly re-evaluating ilya's relationship with g'raha, right, but i do think its basis not only in, like, extreme mistrust and immediate betrayal (my man does not handle the disappearing scion soul shit well, for the record) pales a little in how affronted he is at elidibus putting him down explicitly because the exarch's taken him out of his head, lmao. the fucking. indignity of it all.

[aconfusedbunchofatoms]

back then we said forever because forever was all we knew. back then we were young enough to believe that forever really meant forever because what’s a little distance, we had technology as a means of keeping in touch. except forever was actually pretty short lived. little did we know forever actually meant a year, maybe two.

how it hurts to think forever didn’t mean the same thing to you. perhaps we once genuinely believed that we really could’ve stayed in touch despite everything.

but honestly, we’ve both changed. the remnants of our past selves are long gone. i’m not sure if we’d even be friends if we met again. i think the worst part was never properly saying goodbye because then it never really ends. it just stretches on and on and on as you continue to drift apart, occasionally acknowledging each other because we can, not necessarily because we want to. it was just for the sake of keeping it going. because we felt obligated to. and all that’s left is a lot of distance and even more uncertainty because are we ever really over? are we even still friends, or is that only what we like to think? and the worst part is i can't move on easily because how can i? our time together still meant something. it was some of the happiest moments of my life; i can't throw it all away just like that because i can't bring myself to hate the person who once stood by my side through it all.

i don’t really like forevers. they scare me a bit. because forever one day can mean something different the next. i admit it’s not the best way to live, living a life scared to embrace the love of others, but it’s hard to be vulnerable when it tends to end with us drifting apart. it’s hard to draw the line between being too cautious and being too reckless. 

[titsthedamnseason]

i cannot wait to read the ben winona reconciliation in burn bright 😁

[aquamarineprncss]

20s are destined for hard lessons

[fideidefenswhore]

Something I have been meaning to ask in hindsight who do you think Henry's "best friend" was? I know this is a fairly modern concept and King's would of thought he was only equal to other Kings. But, something about Brandon being given this honour when we also have Compton does not sit quite right.

Glenn Richardson had an interesting insight into this question (that I haven't seen replicated or cited much, really):

The letter’s many pointed references to Wolsey as the king’s friend were intended primarily to remind its recipient of his duty. Yet, although full of angry sarcasm in the moment, Henry deployed them sincerely, and the letter may plausibly be read as evidence that he really did genuinely think of Wolsey as his friend, as well as his servant, and in a way very different from almost anyone else. Diplomacy with Francis I aside, the only other person whom Henry is recorded as calling his friend, on paper at least, was Anne Boleyn.

But assuming you mean male friends, I would say different eras mark different men having the most confidence with Henry. Of friends that were his 'earliest' companions, and were covert or overt supporters of CoA and Princess Mary; there were few survivors (Edward Neville, Henry Courtenay, Henry Pole, etc); and some that survived but lost favour, whether temporarily or otherwise (William Fitzwilliam, Geoffrey Pole, etc). And of friends that were strong supporters of Anne Boleyn, either by kinship or friendship, there were also few survivors (George Boleyn, Henry Norris, and Francis Weston all seem to have enjoyed close friendships with Henry, the former two the strongest, arguably), and likewise (Cranmer, Richard Page, etc).

We can view Suffolk as having survived the political culls by expressing loyalty towards Henry above all others; Compton he was probably closer to as you said, and then Norris inherited that confidence. Heneage he doesn't seem to have been as affectionate towards.

Among friends/advisors, those that Henry seemed to have the most fervent concern for during their illnesses were Wolsey, Anne Boleyn, and Cromwell.

If we're including friends of spiritual authority, I would say Wolsey and Cranmer, if we're limiting to secular power, I would say Compton, Brandon, Norris, and Denny were his closest friends.

[lifewtr]

imagine losing me. Devastating.

[thesongthesoulsings]

Because the term "narcissist" is being throw around so easily:

Let's be clear: Sharing success and being confident is not narcissistic. I know people - including myself - who want to inspire through it.

Let's be honest: Nobody who is sane likes negativity and people who focus on what isn't going well for them. (Especially when it's self-inflicted due to refusal to change e.g., work hard, make wise decisions, develop discipline and/ or let go of addictions.)

Narcissistic people want to pull others down, not uplift them. You are not narcissistic for not engaging people with negative mindsets - you're mentally stable and love yourself enough to set boundaries. (Only those who set and respect boundaries can truly find joy.)

We all have the power to change ourselves and our lives with it. Our rough past or present is not an excuse to remain in a mindset of negativity.

I'm by far not the only one who had a very harsh past and turned their life around by making good decisions and choosing positivity.

If you envy others: Stop. You are your own enemy, nobody else is.

If others envy you: Have compassion for them, pray for them, wish them well and be grateful for what you have.

Don't try to hide your light because others try to pull you down: Your confidence paired with a healthy dose of humbleness is beautiful!

[aconfusedbunchofatoms]

the you in my mind is the you you’ll always be. it doesn’t matter how you’ve changed for better or worse because all i’ve known is that version of you and it’s all i’ll ever know. so what if you’re a different person now? i’ll still remember the times we’ve had together because those memories meant something and they aren’t worth forgetting just like that. our distance doesn’t diminish their value, it just prevents us from ever going back, as if there's something to go back to. i don't miss you, but i don't hate you either. but i also don't think any good would come out of our paths crossing again. i wish you the best. i hope you achieve all the goals you once told me about. i hope i'm not tainted in your memories.