I know I said it in some tags already but I just think it's too cute to not make an actual post of. Essentially, Ghostbur and Punz slowly becoming friends.
Both of them cause a lot of mixed feelings among others - Ghostbur due to the actions that Alivebur took near the end of his life yet his innocence due to not remembering them, and Punz because of how many people he's killed and things he's destroyed yet he only does it because he's hired to. Both of them play integral roles in the lives of people they call friends and enemies, but both are also usually ignored despite their attempts to reach out. Their shared history - namely, Punz killing Wilbur twice over - makes things difficult, but maybe they can overcome that and find solace in one another.
More thoughts under the readmore bc i have endless brainrot
Punz and Alivebur, especially near the end of Alivebur's life and in the depths of his murderous breakdown, would have absolutely despised one another. Wilbur's reason for hating him is obvious - Punz killed him, twice. The scar on his stomach from the hooded man's blade and the dent in his chest from a crossbow bolt were there forever, constant reminders that a single man, short and blonde and American and unimportant, managed to drag him to the end.
Punz's reasoning is more subtle but no less intense. To, Wilbur was the sole reason for the wars on the server in the first place. Tommy had been a bastard and stolen stuff from him, sure, but even if he hated cleaning up the mindless destruction left around his base, that was nothing compared to what Wilbur brought. It was Wilbur who decided to start selling drugs, Wilbur who refused to accept the enforcement of rules to the point where he declared independence, Wilbur who decided to hold a goddamn election. Everything was Wilbur's fault, and Punz hated how much the man pushed that blame onto others. It was because of his reckless actions that Punz became a mercenary in the first place, sacrificing his innocence and his standing in the world, gaining scar after scar for money because Wilbur, goddamn Wilbur, started a cycle of violence that he'd gotten trapped in and couldn't find a way out of again.
But then, the 16th happened. Wilbur died, killed by his own father with his own sword, laughing and sobbing. Punz was caught in the man's explosion, shrapnel embedding in his face and side, leaving him easy pickings for a Wither, only just barely saved by a well-timed healing potion thrown by someone in the screaming crowd.
After that day, things quieted. Wilbur came back as a ghost, scared and confused and missing huge swathes of memory, unsure of himself after his own family members screaming and cried and raged at the sight of him. Punz threw himself into his builds, retreating from contact with others and relearning how to function with half his face useless and mangled beyond repair, a large eyepatch covering the nasty scars.
At some point, Ghostbur ventures out of New L'manberg, unable to stand the wary glances thrown his way when it seemed like he wasn't looking. He knew that his past self had done something bad, something terrible, had somehow helped create that huge hole in the ground, but nobody seemed to realize that he wasn't that person. Not anymore. That person was dead, and all that was left was a ghost, a shell of who he had once been yet somehow a much better man.
He explores a little bit, finding himself ducking into what seemed to be a church, warily glancing around a castle but not sure why he was so cautious, and eventually, stepping through cobble- and blackstone walls to find a fountain and a massive tower. A fountain, a tower, and a figure in a white hoodie that faced away from him, a figure that caused his stomach to churn in that familiar way things that he couldn't remember caused, only growing worse when he turned around and a single piercing blue eye widened at the sight of him.
Punz, of course, was extremely confused. He knew better than anyone that Wilbur was completely, fully dead, yet here he was, right in front of him, transparent and greyed out and with a bloodied gash in his chest from a sword. A gash that was, funnily enough, very similar to one that'd been left on Wilbur's first corpse, left by Punz's own blade in a dark, dark room.
After some extremely awkward attempts at starting conversation by Ghostbur and nothing but one- and two-word answers by Punz, the two fell silent, eventually ending with Ghostbur floating around and watching Punz work on his courtyard. He left after a few hours, of course, having to check on his invisibility potions back home, but it was kind of calming to be near someone who didn't seem to care. To not have to explain every action he took, for once.
So, within a few days, Ghostbur came back, managing to strike up enough of a conversation this time to learn that the one-eyed man was named Punz. As for Punz himself, he started to realize that there was definitely something off with this ghostly version of Wilbur.
Curiosity and lonliness eventually brought more and more visits, the two slowly starting to warm up to one another in the way that a cat and a dog stuck in a house together would.
Neither really know when they cross the line into being friends, but Ghostbur realizes it when Punz takes off the eyepatch to expose his greatest weakness to the dead man and Punz realizes it when Ghostbur gives him a stack of lapis lazuli because it 'reminded him of his blue eyes'. At some point, Ghostbur confides in Punz that he's scared for Tommy on his 'vacation' - he might be dead, but he isn't stupid, he knows that something is very wrong. Later, Punz discusses the pulsating crimson egg that was growing its tendrils throughout the server and admits that he was terrified of it after having found its vines buried in the deepest reaches of his home base.
Neither would be completely comfortable around the other, of course. Ghostbur still flinches whenever Punz pulls out his sword, and the blonde still finds himself waking up gasping from nightmares whenever he's spent too long around the dead man, but even then...
Both of them could agree that a slightly unhealthy friendship is better than crushing loneliness.
A/N: For scientias for the FFXV Secret Santa! I saw the Merlin AU prompt and this just jumped from my hands! XD I didn’t expect to write this much! Originally I was going to put Luna in too but I couldn’t make her fit.
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i.
Ignis stood on his tippy toes, his arms hanging onto the crib bars tightly as he peered down at the baby sleeping inside. Deep asleep, the baby lay flat on his back, his limbs splayed as he dreamt. Wisps of black hair crowned his head and Ignis tried to imagine the King’s golden crown on this tiny head.
“Watching the baby again, Ignis?” King Regis softly stepped inside, quietly approaching them. His footsteps were muffled on the plush carpet. Looking down in the crib, he pulled the blanket tighter around the little prince with a smile. “Finally asleep, I see.”
“He stopped crying an hour ago,” Ignis dutifully reported, untangling his arms. He quickly bowed to the king. “Sire.”
“I see.” The king’s brow knit, his expression darkening slightly. “He’ll need all the rest he can get. His destiny is a heavy one. The gods have tasked him with saving our kingdom, our world.”
Ignis’s eyes widened. Noctis’s hands could barely wrap around Ignis’s finger, and they were expected to not only rule a kingdom, but also save the world? “Really?”
“Really.” Regis crouched down, resting a hand on his shoulder. “When that times comes, he’ll need a companion. Will you be there for him?”
“Of course,” Ignis chirped, no doubts in his mind. If he could help his father, help his king, help the prince, he’d do in a heartbeat. He glanced at the prince between the bars, at his chubby red cheeks and tiny fists.
Noctis would save the world one day.
Ignis just had to make sure he got there.
ii.
“Your highness, it’s morning,” Ignis announced, entering Noctis’s chambers. He closed the heavy wooden door behind him when it was apparent that the prince hadn’t awoken yet. As usual. There were many ways to describe Noctis but an early riser was not one of them. Clicking his tongue, Ignis drew open the thick curtains, flooding the room with the bright morning light. “Wake up.”
Noctis groaned, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow. “Five more minutes.”
“Zero more minutes,” Ignis corrected, rubbing his forehead tiredly. They played this game every day and he didn’t know who the bigger fool was—Noctis for thinking it’d work, or Ignis for expecting him to change. “You have jousting and sword practice this morning, before we take a tour of the guards. You barely have time for breakfast, let alone sleeping in.”
“One more minute,” Noctis recanted, as though that made much of a difference. The blankets tangled around his legs as he burrowed deeper into his pillows.
“Zero means zero, your highness.” With a sigh, Ignis stepped forward and yanked the bedsheets off. The usual pattern it was, then.
Noctis shivered as the chilly air hit him. “It’s so cold!” Languidly, he stretched his arms above his head as he slowly sat up. “Do I issue the orders or you?” he complained, his tone belligerent.
“I am waking you up,” Ignis pointed out, rolling his eyes as he opened Noctis’s drawers. Selecting a fine woolen tunic and matching pants, he laid them down on the bed. “You slept a good two hours longer than I did, sire.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.” Noctis sighed, balefully glaring up at him.
“Sire, if you continue to look at me like that, I will call Prompto to wake you up. Or maybe Gladiolus would do?” Ignis crossed his arms, raising his brow. In this room, in the familiarity of their years, he could get away with little challenges like this.
“No, no, I’m good.” Noctis sat up immediately, giving up the jig. Ignis wasn’t sure which of the two scared Noctis more—Prompto’s overenthusiasm or Gladiolus no-nonsense attitude. He slipped off the bed, his hands on his back as he stretched backwards until a soft crack was heard. “So, what’d you say was first? Jousting?”
“Yes, you’ve missed the last two practices so Gladiolus will be a little…aggressive,” Ignis explained.
“That’s putting it lightly.” Noctis winced, spreading his arms out.
“Very lightly,” Ignis agreed, taking a deep breath before he pulled off Noctis’s shirt. He could do this. He could—the sight of Noctis’s chest, his pale skin bathed in the sunlight, made his mouth go dry. His heart beat so hard, he wasn’t sure how Noctis couldn’t hear it. Swallowing, he turned away as he folded Noctis’s shirt. It was okay, he just had to put the new shirt on. He had this.
“I’m going to get so bruised.” Noctis shuddered. “Make sure the creams are ready, I’m going to need them.”
“Y-yes.” He could feel his smile strain. Creams meant rubbing them on meant touching Noctis—
This had been so much easier when they were children.
iii.
“HIYAAAH,” Gladiolus roared, his mount charging down the field like an angry boar. His horse was already a monster at eighteen hands. With Gladiolus’s bulk added on top of it, it was like watching a titan attack a fly.
A fly that also happened to be the prince.
Noctis swung his lance but it was too late. He grunted as he took the full brunt of the attack, falling hard onto the ground.
“Your Highness!” Ignis ran up the field. They were wearing armour and the lances were wood, but either way that had to hurt. Crouching next to Noctis, he quickly helped his liege into a sitting position. “Are you okay?”
“No,” grunted Noctis, a scowl on his face as he yanked off his helmet. He glared at Gladiolus. “You could go a little easier, you know.”
“Then you would never learn, your highness,” Gladiolus answered cockily, and perhaps it was a good thing they had all known each other since childhood. Any other noble would have had his head for the way he acted. “Now, get back on your horse.”
“So you can murder me?” grumbled Noctis. Despite his frown, he slowly pushed himself off the ground.
“Wait!” Ignis grabbed one of Noctis’s arms. “Are you sure you want do this? You could be hurt. You might already be hurt. Maybe we should check with—”
“Worrywart.” Noctis’s frown melted into an exasperated smile and he shook his head. “This happens every day, you don’t need to be so worried all the time. Nothing’s broken, just a few bruises. I wish he’d hold back a little.”
“Me too,” Ignis muttered, biting his lip. Worry welled within nonetheless, a fear that Noctis’s smile couldn’t erase.
Noctis smirked over his shoulder at his knight. “Besides, we can’t keep Gladdy waiting.”
Astride his horse, Gladiolus lifted his visor. Even from here, Ignis felt a shiver run up his spine from the cold look he shot them. “You’ve been spending time with Iris.”
“...it is better to deny that,” Ignis whispered.
“It’s not like he can kill me,” Noctis retorted quietly.
He shook his head. “There are some things worse than death.”
iv.
“Again?” Cindy lifted the heavy plates of armour with ease, giving a low whistle as she inspected the dents and cracks. She frowned as her finger traced a particularly ragged line, a frown that grew deeper as she realized just how much damage Noctis’s armour had gone through. Poking her head over it, she glared at Ignis. “Really? Do you know how much work I put in this?”
“I do, and I am sorry again that we have to take so much of your time.” Ignis rubbed his neck awkwardly, feeling flustered under her angry gaze. No matter how many times he’d faced it, it never got easier, and he wasn’t sure if he should be happy or sad that her grandpa had retired, leaving the castle smithy to her. At least there was one less glare at him.
“I just repaired it two days ago!” She set the armour down on her work bench. Crossing her arms, she turned back to him. “What’re you doing, beating it with a hammer? Fighting in a war? I’ll have you know none of the other guards, knights, or nobles give me half as much trouble as the prince.”
Because none of them are trained by Gladiolus, Ignis almost retorted. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut and offered a sympathetic smile. “Your work is exceptional, which is why the prince knows he can trust this matter to you.”
“The prince knows I can’t refuse, otherwise I would have stopped taking any work from him.” Cindy sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I don’t even know why I try with his things, I just know it’ll get destroyed.”
Sensing her crack, Ignis walked next to her and squeezed her shoulder. “Your work is exemplary and should be the example for any blacksmith.”
“Yeah, yeah, just buttering me up.” She grinned anyways. Grabbing a pair of ash-covered gloves, she glanced at Ignis. “Do you give this sweet talk to the prince too?”
Ignis replied with an elegant, “Huh?”
“What, you think I don’t have eyes?” Cindy snorted, pulling out her hammers as she set up her work bench. “I’ve seen how you look at him. How he looks at you.”
“Why I never!” Ignis protested, his cheeks burning at the insinuation. The absolutely false, definitely not true accusation.
Cindy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, you haven’t—”
“I definitely haven’t,” Ignis confirmed quickly, wanting to squash this idea before it found purchase. And definitely before anyone else heard it.
“I see.” She grinned impishly and he had seen that expression on Prompto’s face too many times before to know where this was going. He should never have introduced her to the stable boy. “Well, if you say so.”
Sensing a trap, he scrutinized her warily. “I do.”
“Well, he is a prince after all.” She shrugged, still smiling slyly. “It’d be improper to act rashly.”
“It’d be improper, period,” Ignis corrected her firmly.
“Which is why you’re waiting for the perfect, romantic moment,” Cindy continued, not hearing him at all.
“I’m not!” Ignis growled.
Cindy laughed. “Sure you’re not.”
v.
Noctis glanced over his shoulder, his hands loose on the reins of his steed. “It’s strange. I keep expecting to see someone behind us.”
Ignis looked over his shoulder as well. Behind them, the forest path was completely empty for once. There were no signs of the usual guards, no cloaked knights on vigilant alert as they sat tall on their horses. It even sounded quieter than normal, without the extra whickers from other horses. “Me too, your highness. Though we are still within the castle’s forest, so it should be safe enough here.”
“No, that’s not what I…” Noctis ran a hand through his hair, before giving a shy smile. “I just meant, it’s been a while since it’s been just the two of us. Without actually having to worry about work or lessons or anything.”
“Oh.” Ignis flushed lightly as he realised that they were alone. Truly alone. No servants in the next room, no guards in the shadows, nothing. Not even the prying eyes of villagers. “You’re right, it has been a while. Not since we were children, I believe, your highness.”
“Forever, basically. And, just call me Noctis.” When Ignis opened his mouth to protest, Noctis shook his head. “It’s fine, we’re alone.”
That didn’t make it fine, not in the least. They were still prince and attendant, still divided by an invisible barrier that remained in place no matter who was there. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from uttering, “Noctis.”
“Yeah.” Noctis smiled whole-heartedly, his eyes crinkling just so, and Ignis stared, transfixed. “Just like that. I kinda miss when we were kids—you used to be less formal.” He paused, then corrected himself. “Slightly less formal.”
“A problem I have thoroughly corrected,” Ignis finally replied, regaining his voice. His heart was in his throat and it was hard to keep his voice calm, to keep himself collected. He forced his eyes way and stare at the path ahead instead. At least his mount kept a steady pace, trotting along without any realizations of the issues his rider was having.
“It wasn’t a problem. I liked it better that way.” Noctis leaned back slightly, staring up at trees. His bangs covered his eyes and his next words were careful. “We were…closer then.”
Ignis peeked at him from the corner of his eyes, unable to read his liege’s expression. “We grew up, as children are wont to do.”
“I guess.” Noctis looked down at his hands for a long moment. The only sound was the steady clip-clop of their horses as they traversed the dirt path. A deep breath and he stood up straight, his jaw set. Pulling his horse to a stop, he shook his head. “No.”
“No?” Pressing his right leg, Ignis guided his horse to turn around and ride back to Noctis. Stopping next to him, he cocked his head. “Is something wrong?”
“This. All of this.” Noctis shook his head once more. “We…we don’t have to grow apart.” As he spoke, his hand reached out, his fingers almost brushing Ignis’s hand. “I don’t want that, I want us to—”
It had been easier, when they were children. When Ignis could touch and be touched by Noctis and think nothing of it. When he could watch Noctis get hurt and think only of his improvement, when he could spend long hours helping with paperwork and not feel the small gap between their shoulders as though it were a physical presence.
But they weren’t children, not anymore, and Ignis could only see the possibilities in that potential touch, the torrent of words within him just waiting to pour out. His heart was in his throat, full and ready to speak, but he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t.
It was almost reflexive, his flinch. His draw back. Ignis pulled away, just out of reach.
Noctis stared at him, shocked. His eyes widened, hurt crossing his face, his fingers still hovering where Ignis’s used to be.
Immediately, Ignis realized he’d made the wrong move. “Noctis…”
“Fine.” Noctis’s fingers curled into a fist, his brow narrowed. With a click of his tongue, he urged his horse into a gallop, leaving Ignis behind in the dust.
vii.
“So this is where you’re sulking!” Pitchfork hanging off his shoulder, Prompto entered the box stall. The door closed behind with a click and he cocked his head. “I think the prince’s horse is all cleaned now.”
“I’m not sulking,” Ignis retorted, barely sparing the brazen interloper a glance before returning to Noctis’s black stallion, Regalia. A brush in hand, he firmly stroked the mount’s side. “And I need to just finish checking his hooves.”
“I swear you go overboard on everything.” Prompto rolled his eyes, setting his pitchfork on the ground. He crossed his arms over the handle and rested his chin on his arms. “And you are totally sulking.”
“I’m not,” Ignis snapped back, shooting him a dirty glare. “Don’t you have more important matters to attend? Your job? These stables are in need of cleaning.”
“Hey, don’t take it out on me.” Prompto pouted, his cheeks puffed and lip jutted out. “Is it because you and Noctis fought?”
“Your highness,” Ignis corrected automatically, they’d had this argument too many times before. Registering what Prompto said, he froze. “What makes you think we fought?”
“The way he’s trashing Gladdy?” Prompto gave a playful grin. “And so it was a fight?”
“I…I didn’t…” Ignis slumped his shoulders. “Is he that angry?”
“Hmmm…” Prompto tapped his chin, considering it. “Well, Gladiolus did say he’d never seen Noctis so aggressive before. And Noctis kinda just glared at me when I brought up your name. So. There’s that.”
Ignis closed his eyes. Well, he did deserve this, rebuking the prince like that. He didn’t even let the prince finish speaking before reacting, it could have just been something ordinary, like a renewal of friendship. “I didn’t intend for this.”
“I’m sure you didn’t.” Prompto softened. Setting the pitchfork to the side, he approached Ignis and squeezed his shoulder. “You always mean well. Sometimes too well.”
“It’s just…” Ignis stared at the black hide of Regalia, as though the answers could be found in the whirls of his hair. “I want to make sure he’s happy. Always. To help him with his duties and try to ease the burden he has.”
And to keep these feelings of his sealed away, forever.
“I know you do. You’ve always put him first. But,” Prompto asked thoughtfully, peering up at him. “You know, he always seems happiest with you. Have you ever thought of that?”
viii.
The evening breeze was chilly and Ignis shivered as he nudged open the doors to the rooftop. On the western tower, there was no night-watch or prying eyes. Only the roosting pigeons knew of what transpired here, their coos filling the air as Ignis stepped out onto the exposed roof.
Ahead of him was Noctis, sitting on the bench they’d set up when they were children. A secret base, as the prince liked to call it. A place where he could be alone. He’d often come here when he was angry or sad. All of which meant that Prompto hadn’t been teasing earlier. Or at least, only teasing.
Saying nothing, Ignis walked forward carefully, a small tray in his hands. The heat from Noctis’s favourite soup wafted up to his nose and he was glad that the food was keeping warm. “Your highness.”
Noctis didn’t say anything, his back rigid, his eyes staring straight ahead as the sun slowly set.
Ignis hesitated. Taking a deep breath, he quickly said, “Noctis.” His ears burned.
At that, Noctis turned his head, acknowledging his presence. He still didn’t say anything but he moved to the side, making room on the bench for him. Grateful, Ignis sat down next to him, setting down the tray on the space next to him. He folded his hands on his lap. Noctis softly inhaled, exhaled, a sound as familiar as Ignis’s own heartbeat. “I’m sorry.”
Noctis didn’t reply.
“I…” Ignis couldn’t say why he really pulled away. Couldn’t break this fragile thing between them. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”
Softly, Noctis sighed. He rested his forehead on his hand, his head angled slightly to look up at Ignis. “I know. You never do.” His expression was still dark. “It’s just…I…” Gritting his teeth, he curled into himself. “Never mind, just…just forget about what I did.”
“Never.” Ignis shook his head. Noctis had never looked so small before. So vulnerable. And it was all because of him and his inability to keep his feelings in check. “I also miss how close we used to be. It’s just…our positions…you’re the prince and I…”
“Is that it?” Noctis sat up and leaned close, too close. Ignis barely had time to register his presence before Noctis’s hands were on his shoulder, keeping him in place. “Is that all that’s stopping you?”
“Noctis?” Ignis glanced nervously at the door. If anyone found them in such a compromising situation…heads would roll. His own, possibly.
“Is that all?” Noctis repeated, unconcerned.
“It’s a big thing,” Ignis protested. “You’re the heir to the throne. I’m a commoner.”
“You’re right, I’m the heir to the throne.” Noctis leaned closer and Ignis could see his long eyelashes, the flecks of grey in his eyes. His hands shook slightly. “So who can tell me that this is wrong?” The gap between their bodies, their lips, was so small. Ignis could feel Noctis’s heat radiating onto his skip, feel his breath on his face. “Who can tell me not to love you?”
Love? Ignis’s mind went blank. Noctis closed the gap, kissing him hungrily and any thoughts he still had disappeared entirely. All he could feel was Noctis, his hands digging into Ignis’s back as he held him tight, deepening the kiss. And god, his lips were soft, so soft, just as he’d imagined for years, and his arms were strong and—
And he was kissing the prince. Ignis pulled back in a panic. “Your highness!”
“Noctis,” Noctis admonished, a small pout on his face. “What’s wrong now?”
“I…you…this is highly improper!” Ignis blushed a furious red.
“I thought…” Noctis turned red himself, retracting quickly. Realization dawned on his face. “This…you didn’t mean…” He buried his face in his hands. “Oh god.”
“No, I did—I mean, I didn’t…” Ignis took a deep breath, trying to regain some measure of coherence. “You like me.”
Head still buried in his hands, Noctis nodded.
“Oh.” Ignis felt his skin burn even hotter, his heart doing funny things inside his chest. Noctis loved him too. This wasn’t a one-sided pining. Not now, at least.
Suddenly, he understood Noctis’s reaction when they were horse riding. He’d taken it as a rejection. Resting a hand on Noctis’s back, his other hand pried Noctis out of hiding and gently pulled him up into a seated position. “Me too,” he admitted. “I like you too.”
Noctis blinked, confused. “Then…”
“I…” Ignis touched his lips with a hand. “That was…” He smiled, pleased for a moment, before remembering himself. Remembering who they were. “That was improper.”
Noctis frowned. “Ignis, I’m the prince. I’ll decide what’s improper or not.”
“But—”
“I love you, but sometimes you talk entirely too much.” Noctis wrapped an arm around Ignis, the other hand tangled in his hair. “Do you love me?”
There was no where to turn, to hide. “Yes,” Ignis admitted, unable to lie when Noctis was staring at him so intensely.
“Good, that’s all I need.” Noctis smiled brightly and leaned forward to kiss him again.
In the part of Ignis’s brain that was still functioning, he hoped he’d remembered to lock the door.
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@ignoctweek
IgNoct Week: Prompt: "Free"
Mythological Creatures AU. Ongoing fic.
Nobody said being undead was easy. Life can be too complicated for the vampire Noctis who had been in it for far too long. Between being nearly a world apart from his husband, an estranged relationship with his familiar, and forgetting about his allergy to the sun, the best excitement the former king could get is watching his human best friend/drug peddler eat pizza, strum random strings on a guitar he never learned to play well, and King's Knight.
*The fic written for Promptio Week 2017 "A Human and His Wolf" is a side story that exists in this universe.
