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.
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A DEVIL REBORN
Happy Halloween!!! A detailed ID will be placed under the cut (it's close to being 1K i could literally post this to Ao3)
p1. ड्याम्म (dyamma) - Nepali for "(feeling) full", "hitting something"
p3. Chutiya - Hindi for "idiot", "moron" and other related insults
p5. க்ரீச் (kreech) - Tamil onomatopoeia describing scraping/screeching sounds
[Extended Image ID: DYAMMA! Slamming his hands on a table, Achanba Okram finds himself in the darkness of his laboratory. He is wearing black clothes and a white lab coat on top, and has a bowl cut with rectangular glasses.
His thoughts whirl within boxes that are coloured gold and are outlined with red; they put a voice to the uneasy feelings Okram knows are stirring inside of him. The thought boxes read:
With Pavitr gone, I finally have time to string my thoughts together. Half-drowned answers bleed out of my pores. Coalescing like some great, abysmal creature of unknown origin.
Bracing his hands against the table, Okram is acutely aware of his body, of the gaping holes in his back that bubble with demonic energy. His thoughts narrate, My body quakes when I begin to question, wracked with paranoia. With dread, as if the idea of what I had to face was unbearable.
The holes in back — four of them, spaced evenly from each other — begin to ooze golden liquid, hot like fire and viscous like tar.
And yet, Okram thinks, I felt it all the same: that crawling, scintillating horror of my reality. Of my tainted flesh and blood. My being here is the work of demonic forces.
Golden arms, fluid yet bony, powered by some otherworldly thing, unravel from the void in his back. They flounder and expand around him, filling the lab with a cold glow. The fingers are tipped with talons, and, if he looked hard enough, Okram swears they are edged with blood.
I died years ago, Okram thinks. I lost my humanity to the fire of the devil's madness. Thus, the question remains: what is the future of Achanba Okram, a DEVIL REBORN?
The lights of the lab suddenly brighten, and Okram hears him before he sees him. His arms register the presence of the other person, immediately unraveling and slipping out of reality. Just outside, Pavitr Prabhakar's voice calls, "HEY, DOCTOR OKRAM! Sorry I'm late! Traffic was abysmal today."
Pavitr's entrance catches Okram by surprise, and he stutters out, "PAVITR?! You- ah- you have one of your shifts today?"
His thoughts reprimand him, You CHUTIYA! Pavitr always has his shifts on Tuesdays!
Pavitr is unaware of Okram's turmoil, sauntering into the laboratory while hefting up a white plastic bag. He's wearing a black and white flannel shirt, and he has circular earrings. Pavitr's eyes are trained on the bag in his hand. He answers Okram's question with, "Yeah, I do. I, uh, got a little hungry along the way (I'm always so hungry)." Pavitr whispers the last part as he lifts the bag up. He continues, "so I went and bought some vada pav, and—"
He suddenly pauses, his eyes locking onto Okram. He can't tell what is going beyond Pavitr's eyes, but the other man's analysing gaze unnerves Okram to a degree beyond description.
(In Pavitr's POV: his Spider-Sense was just triggered. Red and gold squiggly lines emanate from and surround his head in a halo.)
Pavitr lowers the bag slightly in concern. "Uhm," Pavitr says "are you okay, Doctor?"
Dread and fear floods Okram's system. Suddenly he is hyperaware of everything in the room, including the golden arm that has sprouted from his back and was lying on the workbench behind him, right in Pavitr's line of sight.
Play dumb! Okram's mind screams at him. Accordingly, Okram replies, a tad too tightly, "Of course I am, Pavitr! Why wouldn't I be?"
KREECH. The golden arm scrapes its taloned fingers across the table, no doubt giving away its location.
Okram chuckles nervously, sweating almost immediately, at which his mind howls, Not that dumb!
Pavitr narrows his eyes at Okram and at the golden arm on the workbench. "Are those...demonic arms?" he asks Okram, a shadow crossing his face.
(In Pavitr's POV: In the back of his mind, Pavitr sees a vague and faded image forming in response to seeing the arms. He remembers Doctor Octopus, the man with two extra sets of arms who had attacked him many years ago; he was one of the first villains Pavitr fought as Spider-Man. But... Doctor Octopus died a long time ago. Perhaps...?)
"Oh, Doctor..."
Pavitr's gaze softens as he asks, "Are you being haunted by demons? Have you been attacked by them? Why didn't you tell me? I'm so sorry this has been happening to you. I can't imagine how stressful this is for you." A moment, and then, "Do you want to talk about?"
Okram hides his face in his hands, quickly responding, "No, I'm alright, Pavitr."
Pavitr walks forward, placing his bag down and reaching down to place a reassuring hand on Okram's shoulder. "But, Doctor, men of your generation have ignored their mental health for too long."
"Yes, I know," Okram sighs.
"It'll be okay, Doctor," Pavitr promises, "we can figure something out!"
"And what?" Okram asks somewhat sarcastically. "You will be here with me 'every step of the way'?"
"One hundred percent!" Pavitr says.
Behind them, one of Okram's demonic arms reaches out to peer at Pavitr and Okram; if an arm could be happy, it certainly was. The arm is seemingly pleased with Pavitr's helpful and understanding nature. /.End ID]
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So this is my idea of what the afterlife would look like for Everlark (this is a very rough draft) -
Katniss, as an old lady, smiling as she talks with a young man in a brown leather jacket & a short whisp of a woman in a colourful dress.
A woman with curly hair decorated with flowers (every kind except white roses) & a brown eyed boy are deep in conversation.
Prim & Rue (who also have flowers decorating their hair - for Rue it's the ones she was "burried" with & for Prim it's the ones Peeta planted by Katniss's house) are playing with Buttercup & Lady as their mother's (one of which looks much younger then she did in Katniss's lifetime) watch on fondly.
Old man Peeta suddenly strolls into the clearing with an, old, Delly laughing & talking as they carry baskets of freshly baked goods. Madge gives a wave & a smile then goes back to trying to teach Delly's brother how to play the recorder.
The woman talking with Katniss & the man in the leather jacket stop when Peeta approaches, let's out a squeaky laugh at his apology before going to join the conversation between the curly haired woman & the brown eyed boy.
Peeta puts down his basket to hug Katniss & the man in the leather jacket smiles & kisses her forehead before heading to where his wife is.
Peeta asks her where the others are, to which she says Haymitch & his GF went to visit Mayslee, Hazelle had left to catch up with her family & Greasy Sae went to spend time with Ripper.
Peeta was disappointed as he'd just finished making a strawberry tart that would have been a perfect dessert for Madge's father & Katniss lovingly reminds him that Madge can take it with her whenever she leaves.
Then Mags & Finnick show up, by climbing out of a lake, with a young Annie (they're both dressed in their wedding clothes). Peeta & Katniss congratulates her on reuniting with Finnick again & on all she's accomplished in her life after they left, explaining that Finnick & Mags weren't the only ones checking up on her from this place.
That wether it was from Peeta's kitchen window, Katniss's lake, the puddles Haymitch's geese loved to splash around in, the throats of the Mockingjays or Finnick's & Mags's dreams. Everyone had seen, heard or felt the best & worst parts of her life without them & had just been waiting for her to finally be able to join them.
Mags (now free of the effects of her stroke) gose to join in the conversation between the short, whisp of a woman, the lady with the curly flowery hair & the brown eyed boy, who'd began feeding bread crumbs to a flock of Mockingjays.
Finnick smiles lovingly at Annie as she burst into tears when, later in the evening, Joahnna trudges into the clearing, plops down in front of the fire & deposits a bag of shells she'd "happened to stumble upon" in her lap which Annie & Peeta deside to set aside to paint/turn into jewellery later.
Much to everyones delight, Mr Everdeen opens one of the baskets & pulls out the ingredients to make smores. Then when eveyones nice & full him, Lucy & Maude strike up a song. Peeta eventually gets Katniss to join in, which makes her dad smile, her mum cry, Prim (with Buttercup on her lap & Lady at her feet) & Rue cheer, Joahnna wolf whistle & everyone else laugh & clap along.
When the fire finally dies out & the only light left comes from the moon & fire flys most of the people start saying their farewells & heading to their own "places" until its only Katniss, Peeta, her family, a young Haymitch & his family left.
At that point they all walk to what would be the Victors village in the real world (but there is no gate, the houses aren't run down & the path to get there is covered in flowers & beatiful wildlife).
Once outside his home, Haymitch says a hasty goodbye to Katniss & Peeta before him & his younger brother are battling to see who can make it through the door first (much to their mother's exasperation).
Katniss & Peeta then go to drop the Everdeens at their house that has a plant shop downstairs & leave just as Prim is begging Mrs Everdeen to allow Rue to sleep over the next day to which she replys 'if her mother allows it' (Katniss of course dose not leave without giving her dad & sister a big hug while her mother settles for a kiss on the cheek).
Katniss & Peeta then make their way to where Katniss's childhood home once recided (though much cleaner & warmer than it had ever been when she'd actually lived there & now with a rather nice kitchen).
As Buttercup curls up at the foot of their bed (she & Prim take it in turns who he stays the night with) & the two lovebirds get ready for bed Katniss turns to her husband.
'I want a night with the girl's tomorrow,' she says. 'I thought you might,' says Peeta with a smile. 'I'll be younger....for a bit,' Katniss decides. 'So will I, probably,' says Peeta. 'Oh?' Asks Katniss, curious. 'I was thinking of visiting my family for a few hours,' he admits. 'That's great, just don't let your mother-'. 'I won't, I promise'. Katniss still dosn't look sure. 'Tell you what if she says anything even remotely passive aggressive, I'll leave straight away & just hang out with Haymitch & Finnick for the day?'. 'Good, it's just'. 'I know'. 'I don't ever want you feeling bad about yourself again, not here'. 'Don't worry, this place is good, we'll always be safe here'. 'Like in our cave?' She asks fondly. 'Even better,' he insists as he wraps his arms around her small but plump frame. 'How long do you think it'll take for the others to come, do you think?'. 'Not for a long time, hopefully,' he responds & she sighs. 'You're right, I guess I just miss hugging my babies,' she admits. 'I know, my little swamp potato,' he teases making Katniss sit up with a blush. 'Oh, I should never have taught you about plants!' She seeths making her husband laugh, dissolving her anger as quickly as it had come but also waking Buttercup with a hiss. 'Ok, ok, we'll quieten down, you silly old thing,' she muttered. 'Hey, be nice to your sister's cat,' Peeta teased again. 'His both of ours now,' she reminded him primly before sticking her tounge out. 'Ok, you got me there, but we really should go to sleep now, we both have big plans tomorrow afterall,' Peeta says, through a yawn. Katniss nods sleepily as he turns off the bedside lamp & the two cuddle up beneath the covers.
'I guess waiting for them here isn't really the worst thing in the world,' Katniss admits. '& why is that sweetheart?' Ask Peeta, curious. 'Back....before there was no guarantees, everything....so rushed & fragile, so likley to go wrong'. She says, starting to sweat. 'Ah huh' agrees Peeta patiently. 'But here it's' she stops. 'Different?' he asks gently. Katniss nods aggressively into his chest, wrinkly hands suddenly gripping one of his dad's old shirts he'd decided to wear tonight. 'We've got forever now right?', she whispers, like a kid who's scared their wish won't come true. ''That's real ok, please believe that," Peeta assures her as he strokes her back, leaning down to kiss her as soon as she lifts her face from his chest.
When Buttercup next wakes, it's to his parents holding hands & smiling as they dream of good things to come.
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