My First Fic - Blog Posts

thenextyellowfish

4 years ago

Sunday tea with the king

summery: the King and Virgil used to have tea every Sunday, but now Virgil is left with an empty seat at a table by a bay, with extra macaroons, and a cup of tea untouched. Roman left with a faint memory of fine china and kind eyes. Remus is left with the faded memory of macaroons and a table by a sparkling bay. Both of them share the memory of loving Sundays. Patton’s guilt will forever eat at his chest, and he will do anything to make it up to Roman and Remus.

Warnings: sympathetic Remus, mention of food, a deformed Horse, Remus being Remus, capitals, bad grammar.

Author notes: this is my second time writing this, cause I’m an idiot and deleted the first one. I’m doing this a second time because I can’t find a thing on the relationship between Virgil and The King.

word count: 1193

Masterpost

AO3

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The King's decision to split was the Kings and his alone. He wanted to rid himself of the memories of Patton’s disappointed stares after he gave a “bad” idea. The soft knocks of Virgil on his door to come in and hold him as his cries turned to whimpers.

he had to lose something too. The King lost the memories of studying different animals, judging people in court with Janus in the imagination, and he lost the memories of Sunday tea by the bay with Virgil. Yet there is something that lingers in both Roman’s and Remus’ brains.

Roman remembers some of their time with Janus, and tea in fine china, and kind eyes .

Remus remembers their time with Logan somewhat, along with a sparkling bay, and macaroons.

Both think the memories that have, the kind eyes, a sparkling bay, tea in fine china cups, and macaroons, are connected because when those memories come to thought so does the love for Sunday. Neither of them knew why but an overwhelming love for Sunday has always been there.

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It was Sunday and Virgil knew that he shouldn't cry, but the ache for his old tea parties was rampaging through his soul. He knew that the decision to split was the Kings and the King had made it, but that did not get rid of the want for those happy days of macaroons, gossip, and tea in fine china tea cups. Virgil still had the macaroons and tea in fine china cups, but no gossip, dirty jokes, or happy smiles.

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Roman and Remus both decided to find out the mystery of Sunday. They went to who they thought would never ban them from knowledge, Logan.

“Hey Logan, are you in here,” Roman yelled into the giant study that was Logan’s room. Logan walked through two bookshelves to the two brothers. “Yes, I’m right here Roman,” Logan said. “oh good, I was wondering if you knew why we like Sundays so much, I mean it could be any day of the week but it’s always Sunday, why is that?” Logan looked panicked after Roman said that. “Hey Lolo why you look like we just asked how to murder you?” Remus said. Logan glanced at both of them, took a deep breath and said, “sorry you two but I’m not the one who should tell you.”

“That is fine” both the brothers said sadly.

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Both knew that they wouldn’t get a straight answer from Janus, so they went to Patton. the one that both of them had no memories of from before the split.

“Hey Pat,” Roman said to Patton who was making lunch.

“oh hey kiddos, whats up!”

“me and Remus were wondering if you knew anything about our memories that don’t have anyone in them by the bay?”

Patton suddenly looked sad. “Oh yeah, I do. Do you want to know where the bay is? I’m pretty sure that he doesn't come back till later so you can ask all the questions you want to him. He was the one that knew the King the best...”

“Yes, yes, yesity, yes, please with a juicy butt hole on top,” Remus said smiling viciously.

Patton looked pained not to throw up right there on the spot, “Right... it’s in the King’s imagination, by the chestnut bay is the butterfly meadow. Don’t go close to the butterflies. They can poison you just by touching you unless you have a special charm, they only person that has the charm is Him.”

“Who is this Him, you keep mentioning, he seems important because he has access to the King’s imagination, along with having a charm that no one else has, and him knowing the King better than anyone else?” Roman said.

Patton just smiled and said, “that is for you to find out when you get there.” With that he started making lunch again.

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Both brothers stood at the door to the King’s Imagination. Roman took hold of the detailed gold handle, and pushed. the door swung open, the brothers walked through. The air was filled with the sweet scent of lavender and roses. Remus summoned a horse with their bones showing here and there. Roman summoned a white steed with flowers and golden thread in its mane. both mounted their rides and began the trek to the meadow.

The sights were beautiful like Roman’s, but deadly like Remus’ Imagination. when they got to the meadow they had nearly died three times, THREE!

They saw a Friesian horse tied to an old oak tree, a little bit after at a white table with fine china cups with a flower pattern on them. a display with macaroons on it was in the middle. seated at that table was a man in a black hoodie with purple patches stitched into it, the stitches were exaggerated, drinking from a floral tea cup. It was Virgil.

Roman and Remus approached through the soft grass. Roman cleared his throat, Virgil opened his eyes and looked straight (gay) at them. seeing that it was them his poster softened a bit. “hey, guys’ I’ pretty sure that you guys’ want to know about the king?”

“Yup,” roman said, ”we want to know why we love Sundays so much and who it was in our memories, but you being here answers who it was, but not why we love Sundays.”

“Well it is possible that the reason that the king loved Sundays so much is because he used to join what I'm doing right now, except we used to have more gossip, and sometimes Remy, plus the dirty jokes.”

“would you like to join me?” Virgil asked.

“Sure,” Roman said, grabbing Remus and sitting down. the tea pot raised up on it’s own and poured some tea into the cups. Remus started stuffing his face with the macaroons. Virgil let out a laugh as tears started forming in his eyes, “ the King used to do the same thing.” tears started to escape his eyes, smudging his eye-shadow on their way down. “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t be crying,” Virgil said, wiping the tears away, serving to smudge the eye-shadow. Roman and Remus got up from their chairs, and held the crying boy.

what they didn’t know was both of their Imaginations were becoming one hooking themselves to the King’s Imagination, and at that moment the land was completely done moving, the land masses were now one. the memories of the king rushed through both of their brains, both of the brothers now remembered all of it.

“It’s okay Vivi we both remember now.” Remus said holding Virgil closely.

“Yeah storm cloud, we remember all of it. we may never be the King but we are still parts of him, and all of him loved you with his whole heart. so of course we love you.” Roman said holding Virge just as close.

they didn’t know how long they stayed like that, Remus and Roman holding V as he cried whispering sweet things. And as a result none of them noticed Patton smiling from the tree line. After all Patton will do everything to make it up to those two.

Echoes Of The Rain

Synopsis: Bakugou Katsuki grieves the loss of his best friend (rival? lover?) beneath rain-filled skies. He catches a glimpse of Midoriya Izuku's ghost, a shadow of what he once was. He is forced to confront the pain of holding on—and the inevitability of letting go.

Preview: "With every otherworldly meeting between the two, the details he had once held so dearly—Izuku’s laugh, the way his hair felt under his fingertips, the warmth of his touch—were slipping from his grasp. He could no longer count the freckles on the boy's face—a number he once knew by heart. The rain was washing it all away."

Words: 2.1k

Tags: bkdk, major character death, grief/mourning, healing, hurt/comfort, ghosts, regretful bakugou katsuki, unresolved emotional tension, bittersweet ending

Notes: my first work lol been thinking about getting this off my mind for soo long please free me of my shackles.. also cross-posted on ao3!!

Raindrops kiss the grass. Echoes linger in the storm. Dreams fade, soaked in gray.

Bakugou Katsuki was no stranger to solitude. He didn’t mind being alone—preferred it, most days. Yet, every so often, his feet found their way back to the river.

The rain hit hard, relentless. It soaked through his clothes, ran in cold rivulets down his spine. He barely noticed. He just stood there, fists clenched, jaw tight. It had been weeks. Weeks since Izuku had—since he was gone. And still, the stupid nerd wouldn’t leave him alone.

Katsuki had always hated the rain. It made him feel weak and pitiful—just as he feels now. He stared solemnly at the riverbank; the pitter-patter of the rain masking his cascading tears.

He missed the nerd. Every damn thing about him. From his incessant muttering to the foolish look in his eyes whenever he called him "Kacchan". His mind wandered back to their second fight in Ground Beta. Back then, Katsuki couldn't believe he was having a panic attack in front of him. In hindsight, the vulnerability had been a strange relief. It felt cathartic to pummel him into the ground, a twisted form of therapy. He'd never say this to Izuku's face, but he was thankful he stuck by him through every moment of prideful stupidity.

He would have taken a lifetime of coming second to Izuku over this. Katsuki kneels into the muddy earth, eyes glossing over. The rage inside does little to quiet the voices overtaking his conscience. Every wave of anger begrudgingly surges within, moving in rhythm with the water's ebb. How does one simply get over the loss of their soulmate? He knows he shouldn't be feeling like this, that Izuku didn't mean to leave him, that he died the noblest death a hero ever could.

He saw him in the back of his mind—a constant presence, a painful reminder of the beacon of light he is now devoid of. Katsuki slams his fists into the ground wrathfully, bitterly aware of how pathetic he looks. It felt pointless to keep pushing forward, to keep throwing himself into the fray without an equally persistent rival—his rival. Who would chase after him? Or rather, who would he chase after? He wishes, more than anything, for Izuku to show up. For a passing instance, Katsuki wonders if Izuku remembered the last time they were both here, together.

The cacophony surrounding him made his heart ache. How could the clouds continue to weep? How could the stream continue to ripple? How could his own heart continue to beat—when Izuku was gone? It pounded in his chest, forming an unsteady rhythm, making a mockery of the silence his twin flame had left behind.

Katsuki tilts his neck upward, hair drenched and clinging to his forehead. His usual fierce glare is absent, replaced by a vacant, almost lost expression. The rain poured unceasingly, cold and heavy, but it didn’t wash away the tension in his jaw or the way his shoulders slumped, as though the weight of the world was too much to carry. His crimson eyes, usually sharp and cutting, are dulled by grief, clouded with a deep, aching sadness.

He exhaled sharply and tipped his head back. His hair stuck to his forehead, his vision blurred with rain. He should go. He should stop standing here like an idiot and move. But his legs wouldn’t work.

And then—

A flicker.

His breath caught, sharp and sudden. His heart slammed against his ribs. It was just the mist, the rain playing tricks on him. That’s all it was.

An eerie stillness settles in. Izuku's outline glisters before him—indistinct, translucent. Like embers of a fire, barely hanging on. It's just a hallucination, he tells himself. And yet, his own hands betray him, mindlessly reaching out. His chest tightens, a flood of unspoken words caught in his throat. Despite all the time spent contemplating what he'd do if he got one last moment with Izuku, Katsuki subdues. All the overwhelming rage that filled him before diminishes, replaced by an unwelcome emptiness.

The air is thick, heavy enough to cut with a knife. Neither speaks; no words of comfort or regret passed between them. Izuku's expression is light and carefree, his lips curling into a soft smile that seemed at odds with the grief that weighed down Katsuki's heart. His expression softened, mouth opening and closing, an embarrassing lack of words coming out. Izuku stood there, hazy with a delicate aura outlining his figure—untouched by the rain.

To Katsuki, Izuku was everything. His beautifully radiant eyes seemed to glimmer, outshining any star in the sky—green as twin pools of emerald. Katsuki had to physically restrain himself from reaching out to smooth his dark tousled curls, as if he could make everything right by simply touching him.

Izuku’s silhouette stood out starkly against the dim, wet background. It served Katsuki as a reminder that he was no longer looking up into the face of his companion; but a fleeting memory that he no longer had the right to hold on to. He had always thought of Izuku as some kind of hero, but more than that, he saw him as something more—a myth, a God of serenity and grace, too untouchable, too beautiful, for him to grasp.

His hands fall back to his sides, trembling with quiet desperation. Damn it. Katsuki clenches his fists tighter, swallowing back a surge of frustration. What the hell is wrong with me? He didn't want to look so weak in front of Izuku—was this even him?—his breath hitching unevenly. But oh, of course he'd notice. Ever the kind soul, he lowers himself to Katsuki's level, his comforting presence glinting just in front of him. Katsuki can't help himself—his heart pounds as Izuku’s arms reach out, wiping away tears he didn’t even realise had fallen. The touch feels real—cold, yet strangely comforting against his skin. And for an ephemeral moment, it almost feels like everything would be okay again.

Katsuki’s breath shudders as he feels the phantom touch seep into his bones, like ice-cold water flooding an open wound. Izuku's fingers move towards him—hesitant, gentle—thumbs brushing over the other's cheeks. He handles him with the utmost care, as though he might shatter like glass at any moment. Izuku’s touch was paradoxical—both a lifeline and a cruel reminder of how far beyond his reach he truly was. His gaze remained unswerving, tracing the delicate lines of his face. Katsuki had never felt so vulnerable, so powerless.

His tears mingled with the tempest’s fury, as if the storm itself were mourning beside him. Katsuki’s breath hitched, a sharp tremor running through him, as if the weight of his grief took on a tangible form, like an anchor, dragging him into the ocean’s depths. He calls out to him, voice cracking, as though it might break entirely. The other's expression takes on something akin to sorrow, a look that Katsuki thought didn't belong on his face. Reluctantly, he welcomed the touch. He could feel every careful movement as if Izuku was trying to hold him together, piece by fragile piece. He wanted to pull away—he always did when someone tried to comfort him—but his touch just felt so right.

Izuku couldn’t help but run his fingers across Katsuki’s jaw. His muscles rippled as though they were carved from marble, moving with a swift grace that betrayed the vulnerability in his expression. He would never know it, but Izuku thought his beauty divine, unearthly—hidden behind a mask of anger and conceit. Like a force of nature, his presence commanded the skies above. There’s an undeniable pull between the two, as if the universe had woven their fates together, only for one to be ripped away too soon. It’s a thread stretched too thin, threatened by the magnitude of loss.

Katsuki closes his eyes for just a moment, letting Izuku's touch wash over all the doubts in his mind. His pulse steadies, his breath no longer shaky. His demeanour eases, as if something inside him is finally, slowly, beginning to break free. Yet, even in this fleeting moment of relief, he knows—Izuku couldn’t stay. He never had been able to.

Katsuki allows himself to bask in the other's consoling touches, confessions and apologies spilling from his lips without thought. He doesn't know how long he's standing here, being comforted by the boy he was missing mourning. The steady patter of rain gives way to silence, and as the last drop falls, the stillness between them feels like a new beginning—a pause in the storm that has raged inside Katsuki since he lost him. As the sky clears, and the days pass, he finds himself looking for Izuku's shadow wherever he goes, longing for his solace whenever it pours.

Izuku’s ghost hasn’t been around for days now, and a nagging thought lingers at the back of his mind. He swallows hard, trying to push it down, but it won’t go away.

Has he forgotten something?

It’s a thought he can’t shake, and his gaze darts around, as if half-expecting Izuku to be standing just behind him, waiting for him to admit it out loud. He grits his teeth, biting back the urge to call out, to hope for a hint of the familiar warmth that used to be there. He won’t give in to this. But his eyes linger on the space in front of him, almost begging Izuku to confirm that he’s not truly gone. The hesitation is brief, but it cuts through him like a blade—just a flicker of weakness that he immediately tries to ignore. Moving forward feels like betrayal, like leaving Izuku behind for good, but is it really betrayal if it’s all he can do?

Fuck. His throat tightened. He clenches his fists, furious with himself for even thinking it. For needing confirmation.

But there’s no answer, no ghost to speak back to him. Just the rain. Just the silence.

As much as he wanted to hold on, he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that Izuku's ghost was fading away. With every otherworldly meeting between the two, the details he had once held so dearly—Izuku’s laugh, the way his hair felt under his fingertips, the warmth of his touch—were slipping from his grasp. He could no longer count the freckles on the boy's face—a number he once knew by heart. The rain was washing it all away.

Katsuki had tried to trace the scars on Izuku’s arms, but his ghostly figure had started to dissolve as the seasons passed. The lines he had once followed like a map blurred into obscurity. The once-vivid greens of his eyes, bright and unyielding, were now dim smudges in Katsuki’s mind. Each encounter left him with less, and each time, Izuku seemed more like an echo than the boy he had fought alongside—the boy he had loved. Katsuki fought to keep every memory intact, clutching at fragments with the desperation of a drowning man. But grief was a relentless tide, pulling pieces of Izuku further into its depths. He feared the day when he would wake up and find nothing left to remember.

Katsuki stares out into the downpour, expecting the familiar flicker of green eyes to appear, but all he sees is the blur of the storm. He frowns, his heart stuttering for a moment before it settles into something else—something quieter.

The space beside him remains empty, and for the first time in so long, it doesn’t feel like a void. The ache is still there, but it’s different. It’s less like a wound and more like a scar that’s begun to heal, its edges softened by time. He realises, slightly unsure, that he hasn’t seen Izuku’s ghost in weeks, maybe longer. And it’s okay. The thought doesn’t fill him with guilt; it doesn’t feel like betrayal. It’s just... the way things are now. He’s allowed to move forward, even if the past will always linger in the background.

Grief wasn’t something to be defeated; it was a river, something that would ebb and flow, forever changing, but never truly halt. He stopped searching the storm for a figure that would never return, realising that the sun would rise again, even if it took time to burn through the clouds. In the space between the rain, he found a new kind of peace—one that was less about forgetting, and more about learning how to stand in the quiet aftermath.

The rain had stopped, and with it went the faint illusion that Izuku was still near.