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darkmuffinstudios · 1 month

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Was bored and decided to create a silly little one-shot of Errormare for @inkywellcrow 🤭

Who knows, I might get more motivation to make more parts, I might not haha

Baking One-Shot (Errormare) (1.7k words)

Darkxsoulzyxcaliberx

Dream’s birthday (and by extension, Nightmare’s) was only a few days away, and the two most dastardly villains of the multiverse were in the middle of making something for it.

You see, after many decades of struggle, the two guardians grew weary of the constant back-and-forth and had since settled on a truce; No more bloodshed and no more overbearing war meetings. After so long, however, the two had long since forgotten times of peace. It was nothing more than echoes of what could have been, as well as what once was… So, as always in their relationship, Nightmare decided to be the first to extend one of many olive branches that will occur down the line.

To show a sign of good faith and to celebrate the occasion, Nightmare had his boys come up with gift ideas that they would give to his brother. The dark king had hoped that, whatever the gifts may be, that the action alone would show that he intended to support this truce and to keep friendly relations with his other half.

But asking a band of miscreants and murderers was a bad decision in hindsight, and so after many, MANY days of brainstorming, he eventually caved to Horror’s insistence on a birthday cake.

Which brings us to the present…

“Error, you’re whisking batter, not pummeling it into submission.” Nightmare scolded lightly. He wiped his hands on the apron he was wearing, trying not to get too irritated at how sloppy of a job his partner was doing.

“This is stupid.” Error grumbled.

“Error— slower, slower.”

“Don’t— !” His body locked up at Nightmare’s complaining, and he drastically slowed down his pace to a glaringly slow tempo. He gave Nightmare a frustrated look, to which the king easily brushed off. “Don’t tell me what to do. I read the recipe too.”

“Uh huh.” Nightmare deadpanned, setting a metal tray on the counter. “You're also as blind as a bat without your glasses, my dear.”

“They would have just got in the way.” Error huffed. After a few more mixes, he decided that surely was enough of that, and he dropped the bowl into the counter with a loud CLANK. “There. Done mixing.”

Nightmare rubbed his temples. What was that method of reducing stress? Counting back from five? Whatever it was, it surely wasn’t working as well as he had hoped. “Please don’t slam the bowl down.”

“Mmhm.” Error leaned against the counter, dismissive.

For his own mental (and Error’s physical) wellbeing, Nightmare opted to ignore him for a little while. Once he sprayed down the baking pan, he glanced over Error’s work. There was still some dry clumps of the batter mix floating around, but he wasn’t going to correct any of it since he knows how much his partner loves to throw his tantrums. Besides, Dream has been a pain in his ass for decades— the least he can do is crunch on some raw flour to save him from future headaches.

Carefully, he lifted the bowl and poured the mixture into the baking tin. Using a tentacle, he grabbed a spatula he set out beforehand to scrape any excess, and quietly put the bowl down. He gave Error a mild look.

Error met his gaze and paused, looking to either side of himself. “… What?”

“That’s how you put a bowl down. Silently.” Nightmare said, his voice dripping honey and tar.

“Oh, fuck you.” Error griped, rolling his eyes so over dramatically that his head went with it. Nightmare couldn’t help but smile at how stupid he could be.

After making his point, he walked over to the oven with the pan. After opening it with a tentacle (fashioned with a cute little baking mitten), he placed the pan inside and shut it with his hip. Making note of the time, he finally allowed himself to slump against the counter.

Nightmare looked up at the ceiling. How the hell does Horror do this every single day? Willingly?? He couldn’t even imagine how difficult it would be to order his men around such a small space, never mind how destructive all of them already are. Just the thought started to give him a headache…

“So,” Error started. “Why didn’t you ask your uh…” He thought for a moment, his body glitching a little from the effort.

“Horror?” Nightmare offered.

“Yeah— the big, freaky guy— to do this for you? Doesn’t he do this stuff already?”

Nightmare sighed. “… Well… Monster food is magic—”

“Uh. Yeah— I know.”

“I know that you know—“

“Then why say it—?”

Nightmare turned and glared at him. “Just let me talk!” Error held up his hands defensively, glaring right back at him for a moment, before Nightmare eventually continued.

“Well, because monster food is made of magic, then cooking monster food involves magic too. It incorporates the chef’s intent, and can communicate unspoken feelings through each bite.” Nightmare idly messed with one of the spoons on the counter, staring at the oven glass as he spoke. “To put it simply, it has to be made by me. I may not be the best at baking, but he will understand and appreciate the gesture anyways. He is that kind of guy, unfortunately.” He scoffed.

“So why drag me into this?” Error groused. “I couldn’t care less about making ‘Mr.Sunshine’ feel any better than he already feels.”

“Oh.” Nightmare turned to flash a smug look at Error. “Because I didn’t want to suffer alone.”

Error stared at Nightmare. For a long, long moment. A quiet, high-pitched sound began to come from Error’s body— the telltale sign that he was starting to crash. “You’re joking.”

Nightmare shrugged. “Am I?”

Error grabbed the whisk from the counter, chucking it with all his strength at Nightmare. “YOU ASS!! I COULD HAVE LEFT AT ANY TIME?!?”

The king chuckled, letting the whisk hit his shoulder. “Of course you could have. You weren’t obligated to do any of this.”

Error threw his arms around, already hellbent on destroying the kitchen. He ripped the toaster from its electrical socket, threatening to throw it on the ground when Nightmare continued. “But you stayed because you love me.”

That got Error to freeze in place. He stared at Nightmare, bewildered for a few seconds, before slowly lowering the toaster onto the counter. “… Whatever.” He mumbled, stewing.

Nightmare smiled at Error’s obvious admission of defeat, finding himself slowly walking over to him. He stopped a good few feet away, settling on leaning against the counter once more. “You love me, and wanted to help me because you loved me.” He teased lightly.

Error bristled. “I will leave!”

“But then I’d be so sad if you did.” Nightmare touched his own chest, right over where his apple soul would be. “All alone… abandoned…”

Error huffed, crossing his arms. “Good! Feel bad!! Feel bad for tormenting me for HOURS while I slaved away in this kitchen for you!!”

“It was only an hour, dear.” Nightmare chuckled.

“NUH UH!! You’re wrong!!” Error scowled, swinging an arm out to the side and ripping a portal open to a random, unsuspecting world. He gestured wildly to the setting sun. “See!! HOURS!! It’s already growing dark!!”

Nightmare rolled his eye. “Mmhm.” He knew he wasn’t winning this fight.

Error smiled triumphantly, leaning a little closer to Nightmare. The portal fizzled next to them, disappearing soon after. “Apologize.”

Nightmare raised a metaphorical eyebrow at Error. “For what?”

“For being mean and awful and terrible!” Error demanded, counting on his fingers as he went.

Nightmare rolled his eye for the second time. “Mmmmmmno. I don’t think I will.”

Error leaned back, pouting now. “Asshole.”

Nightmare sighed. A brief moment of silence grew between them as they waited for the cake to bake before Nightmare sighed again, shoulder sagging. He looked at the clock hanging on the far wall of the kitchen, then back at the oven glass. The cake wasn’t rising at all.

“… Do you think he will like it?”

Error didn’t look at Nightmare, arms still crossed. After another beat of silence, Error’s shoulders sagged a little and he quietly responded. “What do you mean.”

Another beat of silence. Error didn’t like it. He turned back to glance at Nightmare, only to see the other have his hands folded against his chest in a sort-of self hug. His tentacles were curled inward on themselves, and Nightmare hadn’t looked up once from the oven glass.

It bugged Error. He tried again, softer. “What... do you mean by that?” Nightmare sighed again, a third time, and it was starting to get to Error. He shook his head. “No one hates chocolate cake. If I find out he does, I’m throwing him.”

“Not the cake.” Nightmare answered quietly, though he did smile a little at Error’s threat. The spectacle of the destroyer of worlds tossing his brother like a football was amusing, to say the least. He gestured vaguely, trying to find the right words. “My… message.”

“Message?” Error echoed, clearly confused.

“My intent.” Nightmare tried instead. “It’s… I want this to go well. I want this to be our first steps in making up with one another, and I tried to put as much as I could into this cake… I tried to not fill it with…” he sighed, the fourth time. “… with my lingering feelings of the past.”

Nightmare raised a hand. “I’m certain I didn’t, and I know this won’t make up for everything that has happened between us… but…” He slowly brought his hand back towards himself, back to where it was wrapped around his chest. “I don’t know… I lack the proper words at the moment.”

Not that Error needed all of the words to understand. He thought a little bit before he spoke. “That’s why you asked me to help you with this.” The dots started connecting more in his head as he turned to Nightmare. “You didn’t want to do this alone.”

Nightmare considered Error’s words. “… I suppose I didn’t.”

Error stared at Nightmare, trying to get maybe just a little bit more out of him, before turning to look back at the oven. “… I think he’ll like it.”

“You think so?” Nightmare’s voice sounded uncertain.

“Yeah.” Error shrugged. “He is that kind of guy, like you said.”

Nightmare smiled a little. “I guess you’re right.”

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finleycannotdraw · 10 months

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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.

#nimona #nimona movie #nimona netflix #nimona 2023 #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #nimona fanfic #this is. not betaed and barely proofread. enjoy #I HOPE I CHARACTERIZED THEM RIGHT #ALSO IN MY POST CANON UNIVERSE THEY ALL HANG OUT IN THE TOWER/LAIR FOR A WHILE AND THEN GET AN APARTMENT #ITS A WHILE BEFORE NIMONA CALLS EITHER OF THEM DAD #nimona and ambrosius playing hyper-competitive but ridiculous card games without ballister is a hill I will die on #he thinks they’re going to become enemies for real but the card game animosity just makes their friendship stronger everywhere else #ALSO goldenheart is their ship name but it’s a PERFECT combined last name for when they get married <3

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