#keirio

[fugitivehues]

outrunning karma

[niwatari-rei]

One Step Back No. 31: "I thought I was getting better." Emptiness | Setbacks | "Take it easy."

Just when the artwork thought it had gotten Rio to open up to it at least a little, she had her defenses up once again. No matter what it tried, nothing had changed between them. Perhaps, the artist wanted to keep it like so. "Elm Root." She called out to it. "Hmm?" It said with a smile. "You're staring again." Ah...Of course, she'd notice even if the artwork tried its best to hide it. "Just enjoying the scenery, should I not partake in doing so?" It posed the question. "I see..." And just like that, she never pressed any further.

[fyeahiwatarikei]

“  you  know  how  i  feel.  ”

Secret love sentence starters

“You know how I feel.”

Under her hand, the wood of the door was already warming up. Time hadn’t altered the varnish that gave it its rich colour.

It had barely meant anything to her during the first decades of her life, besides the evocation of a forbidden room and rare glimpses of the decor when she passed on the corridor and it coincidentally had been left open. Now that her mother was gone, however… It felt like avoidance. It felt like drudgery.

When she would open this door, she’d find all of her deceased parent’s belongings and secrets covered in dust, left exactly where the latter had last placed them. Once removed, once discarded, traces of her existence as a person would only remain in her daughter’s memory.

It had been months – almost a year. Rio’s fist clenched. She was not a child anymore, had finished university, made her own money, didn’t feel her eyes constantly. She had to do this.

“I do know, and I maintain that you don’t have to go through this.”

In a way, Rio still had a pair of eyes on her, the difference being that she didn’t fear his. Behind her, arms crossed, he regarded her hesitation with what sounded like amusement. The new parasite of the house, the freeloader her mother had frequently warned her against, the undesirable who had gotten her out of complete solitude when her mother died.

“Would you do it if I asked, Elm Root?” she asked in a voice that hadn’t been supposed to tremble.

“Your mother got rid of me. Do you really think I should be the one personally removing her belongings from this house? So close to obon; it would anger her spirit, don’t you think?”

Rio couldn’t decipher whether he was messing with her or not but, regardless of the light-hearted tone, the response was clear: he wouldn’t budge.

“She did her best” was all she could mutter. All her life, the overwhelming presence had felt like a weight, a constraint straightening her into who she should be. Amongst principles and training, Rio only had had room to welcome apathy, a lethargy that was doing her more than a disservice at this moment. Yet, she had always done everything in her power to bring some authority and normalcy in this household.

“Who are you talking to, exactly?”

Her mother would have despised the entire situation. She hated the entire situation. It seemed that Elm Root did as well. However, a lucky one in the group wasn’t here to have to bear through this anymore. She had no power anymore. And Elm Root was here to stay.

Leaving a moist trace behind, Rio removed her hand from the wood and closed it around the door handle.

[mirasoldraws]

"You'll be a good doctor one day..."

It's Leorio' birthday so I just had to draw him ;---; ❤️ I've been thinking about his childhood and how he got such a strong dream so here's a small manifestation ✨

[fergposts-blog]

Hey gays!!

Attention

[fugitivehues]

Flower Language: KeiRio and Yellow Carnation?

yellow carnation | disdain, disappointment, dejection | I have failed you. Now what?

-------

starting off with some very romantic feelings , yes yes~

unlike rio, i poured all my love into those canvases and they turned out better than expected! i think details being lost in shadow is a very cool effect so i want to experiment a lot more with it.

[niwatari-rei]

Whumptober 2023 Prompts Masterlist

Emikosuke Prompt 29: "What happened to me?"

Elliot Prompt 24: “I thought they were with you.”

Elliot & Second Hand of time Prompt 22: "Watch out!"

Kyle Endoyle Prompt 25: "They're not breathing!"

Hiwatari Satoshi & Krad Prompt 8: "It's all for nothing."

Hiwatari Satoshi & Sekimoto Masahiro Prompt 21: “Don’t move.”

KeiRio Prompt 15: "I'm fine" Prompt 31: Setbacks

KosuKei Prompt 4: "You in there?" Prompt 26: “You look awful.” Prompt 27: "Let me see." Prompt 28: “You’ll have to go through me.” Prompt 30: "Not much longer."

Niwa Daisuke & Defective/Baku Prompt 9: "You're a liar."

Niwa Daisuke, Harada Risa, Insomnia & Sekimoto Masahiro Prompt 11: "No one will find you."

Niwa Daisuke, Dark Mousy & Hiwatari Satoshi Prompt 6: "It should have been me." Niwa Daisuke & Dark Mousy Prompt 12: "I'm up, I'm up."

Niwa Daisuke, Niwa Emiko & Niwa Kosuke Prompt 20: "You will regret touching them."

Niwa Daisuke & Saehara Takeshi Prompt 19: “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

Niwa Daisuke, Saehara Takeshi, & Sekimoto Masahiro Prompt 1: "How many fingers am I holding up?" Prompt 17: “Leave me alone.”

Qualia & Hikari ancestor Prompt 18: Tortured for information

Quarantine Prompt 14: "Just hold on."

Saehara Takeshi & Inspector Saehara Prompt 10: "You said you'd never leave."

Saehara Takeshi x Sekimoto Masahiro Prompt 5: Pinned down

Sekimoto Masahiro Prompt 2: Thermometer Prompt 7: "Can you hear me?" Prompt 23: "Who's there?"

Towa no Shirube & Argentine Prompt 13: "I don't feel so good." Yuukami Prompt 3: Solitary confinement Prompt 16: "Don't go where I can't follow."

[niwatari-rei]

Gladiolus + KeiRio please?

Gladiolus - All the blood we've shed for each other ══════════════════✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿════════════════

“It” would do anything for her or so she believed. Was it out of necessity or perhaps the plan had interested the artwork? If anything, it seemed to be more of the latter. Even as Rio watched as the artwork left the room. Turning to glance out the window, she could recall the day the plan was discussed. At first Rio figured Elm Root would simply feign interest and call it a day. And yet the artwork looked on with interest as she explained in detail. Not once did Elm Root ever look away.  Pulling the curtains close with a rare smile, she spoke. “Maybe then will it be realized.”

[niwatari-rei]

For the flowers prompts: KeiRio for Rue?

Rue - We dreamed of each other before we met ══════════════════✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿════════════════

He was never really one to dream. Not after bearing witness to each of his classmates. And yet after spending quite some time with each of them, something or rather someone began to haunt its dreams. Long wavy blue hair and blue eyes filled with disinterest as she spoke words that Kei couldn’t quite make out. Each night, it would repeat in a never ending cycle. The day the transfer student arrived he managed to school his expression into that of a smile. As she took her seat down at the desk next to him, Kei spoke. “It’s nice to meet you, Hikari-san. I hope we can get along.”

[niwatari-rei]

Salvia blue + KeiRio!

Salvia blue - The list of every time I almost reached back out to you. ════════════✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿═════════════════ Elm Root had been there for quite some time. Always never changing and looking to do as it pleases. The artwork was probably the only one who could truly understand her surprisingly enough. Even now as they exchanged pleasantries out on the veranda over tea. “Now then, I shall take my leave, Hikari-san.” It said with a practiced smile. And yet…Rio found her hand wanting to reach out only to stop short. The artwork turned back, looking somewhat amused by this. “Was there something you needed?” It asked, that smile still in place. “No, there was nothing.” She shook her head.

[fugitivehues]

Caduceus art by @fugitivehues & writing by @keikotwins

Her focus hadn’t weakened with passing days, enhanced by the unequalled determination that had caught her being and would never leave: with care, she traced over her ancestors’ paint strokes, abandoning her own style to surrender skills to the family heirloom. Magic flowed like water, vainly attempting to fill, to feed this one painting that had stubbornly refused satisfaction for centuries.

She had made a decision, and would abandon anything if it promised success. Elm Root had only rarely witnessed such emotions in her and knew that it meant he had achieved his own objective: Hikari Rio finally accepted her heritage, she created. Even further, she worked on the Black Wings themselves.

Months of support, for her to do more than he would have ever dared hope for. Needless to say, he could spend hours watching her – not without willingly avoiding the morbid curiosity that went alongside seeing a human provide her own energy to the Beast Itself.

The side effects had already started to appear under the shape of thin, white lines on her skin. It was all too familiar in multiple ways, as Elm Root himself received, though quite rarely, his own share of spreading marks. In Rio’s case, painting this destructive art piece damaged her body, starting from the wrist to spread in the arm. How gentle: the Black Wings spared the hand that fed it.

That day, she had been painting for hours, forgetting to drink, forgetting to eat, forgetting that anything else existed. Wasn’t it time for a much-deserved break? Stretching his body, which had remained still for an undetermined amount of time, Elm Root approached. A touch on her shoulder sufficed: her concentration broke. She blinked, briefly looked at him, placed her brush on the side table.

On her right arm, the lines had deepened further, allowing blood to run down the skin and threaten to stain the sleeve of her coat. That… was new.

Fingers closed on her wrist, and she allowed him to lift her arm for a closer view. The scratches didn’t follow the veins; instead, their varying width and irregular pattern reminded him of traces left by some large animal’s claws. As they remained shallow, healing would be fast, but he knew that the skin would grow tired with passing painting sessions, causing increasingly more pain each time, leaving scars that would not fade.

A thumb brushed against the longest wound, which almost reached the elbow. She didn’t flinch. She observed his observation, with uninterested acceptance. In that way, and maybe this one only, she resembled her ancestors: physical discomfort was never enough to break her tenacity.

“Do you trust me?”

Tiredness had already started to show in her eyes, and it took her a few seconds to find a correct response. “No.”

He didn’t really need her to. Securing a hand on her shoulder, the other still pressed against her cuts as if to stop blood, he placed his lips on hers. Surprise tensed her body, but she didn’t move. Soon, she’d feel the strength he meant to give her, hopefully failing to also notice his beating heart. He was fully aware that the energy transfer would draw his own “scars” out, in patterns that resembled roots more than bruises. In a way, they would then be matching.

She worked hard, sacrificed so much while he uselessly watched from the shadow, she needed… No, he needed to offer support, even minimal one. That thing hurt her, and he knew how to soothe this one pain.

Rio had already relaxed, her appeased breathing regularly caressing the skin of his face. She had understood the purpose of his gesture, and accepted it.

Encouraging them both, her blood had started running down Elm Root’s fingers. Additional time – and patching – would later be necessary. If he could merely assist, healing would have to come from herself.

[fugitivehues]

Impressions art by @fugitivehues & writing by @keikotwins

“And that makes one hotel room booked for a journey fully planned!” Elm Root gleefully announced in place of a greeting as he closed the living room’s door behind him. Rio smiled with amusement, eyes not neglecting her work for a second.

“Should I bother asking you how many beds this room will have?”

“There is one way for you to know,” he responded without hesitation. “The ticket is in one of my pockets.”

She rarely heard him in such an excellent mood; despite a well-natured composure that initially gave the impression of a permanent merry state of mind, he tended to remain even regardless of his surroundings, which had led Rio to sometimes wonder if he could feel emotions. After all, he recovered quickly from disturbances like surprise and tended to remain more unaffected than ever by pain and sadness – in a word, he barely displayed joy nor excitement.

“Let’s keep it a surprise, then.” She knew he did his job correctly, and he knew she knew. Just like this, the topic was dropped; he approached to have a closer look at the painting she had started working on earlier that day. Not without taking the time to explain in great details the schedule that awaited them on the next Monday, from the time they needed to depart to the roads they would take, including the expected traffic, the architectural style of the inn and new information he had gathered about the artwork they had planned to pay a visit to, which wasn’t a lot so he mostly reminded her of elements she already knew.

Meanwhile, she listened. She always listened. Her pieces didn’t require much focus and, palette in one hand, paintbrush in the other, she added, touch after touch, colours and nuances to the cloudy sky that would serve as both background and main point of interest of her piece, his sentences unrolling one after another behind her. On top of Elm Root preparing their little expedition with enthusiasm, he avoided taking up space when she was working.

Just as she was mentally formulating that even he, amongst all the persons she knew, also had the ability to show an endearing side, a pair of arms wrapped around her waist and he pressed his body close, a cheek gently caressing one of hers – of course, glasses also bumped against her temple with a dry protestation in the process.

After the rather unflattering portrait of the inn employee he had been in contact with, he had stopped talking. For what felt like a suspended moment, it seemed that he almost considered mentioning her piece. For an individual who always had his little say about her workload and the quality of the care given to her family heritage, he remained rather silent on his personal tastes regarding art. She had picked a lighter, relatively impressionist style for that one commission, and had had the opportunity to shed some of her personality. It would have been a nice opportunity for him to speak out.

However, he resumed his preliminary report, this time insisting on how much she needed to rest well before leaving. Both hands too busy to indulgently pet this protective head, Rio rested her back against him. Another time, then. She would certainly find his preferred style one day.

“You know what?” Outside, the light of day was already weakening, projecting the shadows of the garden’s trees on the wall behind them. Her colours gradually became harder to determine, and she had spent way too long picking a new shade of blue. “I think can finish this before Monday, after all.”

“You know what?” he asked back, his voice lowering to almost become a whisper, fingers almost imperceptibly pressing harder against her arm. She recognised that warm tone, his favourite when he expressed the last cajoling comment he had come up with. “You convey texture and light in your oil paintings like no one else.”

The playful voice was back. Another smile showed on her lips, as she picked some more blue onto her brush. That cloud was becoming more than decent.

[fugitivehues]

Opening Night art by @fugitivehues & writing by @keikotwins

“This is my evening, don’t get in my way,” Rio hissed between her teeth, loud enough to make sure he wouldn’t be able to ignore her warning, yet in a level of discretion that didn’t catch any other guest’s attention. Thankfully, said visitors were too busy, between socialising groups and freeloaders sliding from booth to booth to seek the next champagne bottle they’d try out, to pay any attention to a moderately popular artist and some man who coincidentally happened to be a dedicated several centuries-old living artwork.

“My only purpose is to support you, Hikari-san,” he responded in his usual light tone, smile only broadening as her eyes, where surprise mixed with displeasure in front of the obsequious name, flashed in his direction. She had started it. “This way.”

Shielding her from a procession of glasses carried by merry nobodies – she had dressed up for the occasion, carefully on top of that; a stain would have looked disastrous – he led her between two tables that could have afforded to be separated further. One of his hands came close to her back, yet remaining at respectful distance, to make sure she would follow.

As he should have expected, tension grew in his fingers, and he quickly diverted his attention to securing their position away from the white cotton of her dress. He had built a relatively newfound interest in the flawless line of the small of her back, that unfortunately disappeared too often under loose blouses, and the warmth in his body was already rising at the idea of the contact that could be. Unnecessary to explain how it would not be the right time, nor the right place to press a hand there, accidentally or not.

At no moment did she bother asking how he knew where her appointment took place, nor did she mention the physical proximity. She knew him enough to be aware of his… caring tendencies. However, when a banner in the colours of the publishing house finally appeared behind another, less crowded booth, her voice rose again:

“Don’t talk. Just play your part.”

Fine. She hadn’t truly invited him to accompany her, after all, it was only fair to let her manage this aspect of her artistic career. Yet, what part was he supposed to play? They hadn’t decided on his official title, and even less on a proper name.

“Hikari-san, good evening!”

Elm Root’s hand vanished. A middle-aged man approached, in a suit that probably used to fit him in a more or less distant time, and enthusiastically greeted her, before glancing with inquiring eyes at the man behind her.

“My assistant,” she explained with a dismissive gesture. “Good evening.”

Just an assistant? A silent role, and he hadn’t brought the necessary accessory, a notebook to thoroughly write the smallest details of conversations regarding his “employer” down.

“I hope you are not worried about your rights management,” the publisher added, definitely looking like the worried one. “Rest assured that our company is taking care of every aspect regarding the life of your books!”

“I only need someone to organise and clean after me, don’t worry.”

Only one step behind, Elm Root followed as the man led Rio to the booth exposing the latest or proudest achievements of his company to their small literary world, pointing to her books, that had been unfortunately displayed alongside other colourful children’s books, then to the poster running against one of the temporary walls where the different signatures they would be hosting during the festival shone, Hikari Rio’s name in the middle. Several members of the business, easily recognisable thanks to their name badges, greeted their artist with eagerness, seemingly delighted by the success her illustrations had met this past year, solicitations she met with unseen graceful politeness.

Behind Elm Root, in another group they had passed earlier, someone laughed a little too loudly. Rio’s charming yet lacking elegance dress flattered her back and the curve of her hips. Whatever this event was looked nothing like the private viewings he was used to… What had this Hikari gotten herself into?

[fugitivehues]

The Time Spent Together art by @fugitivehues & writing by @keikotwins

In the grand scheme of things, none of this mattered. The time spent together, from her work sessions to the suppers he regularly prepared, would bear no consequence on the future. Like everyone, even the eminent members of her family, she had been brought into this world to die and be forgotten in less than fifty years. Who remembered the names of famous, praised artists who had lived a couple of generations ago? Who remembered their so immortal and magnificent pieces of art, that had been destroyed, stolen, scattered and removed from their original intent for the most part? They had spent their existence in vain insanity. Even that had no importance.

“Lost in thought again?”

Elm Root. That one artwork had remained around, even if its history and purpose had been lost to time like so many others. While humans faded, it stood, immutable; perhaps it even remembered the ones who had come before her, but she hadn’t had the courage to ask yet. In the afternoon light that bathed the gazebo and its vegetal residents, it gathered the blank paper spread on the low table in a neat stack, then placed the folder containing her sketches on top. As if it mattered in any way.

“He” had to be a thing to gather enough courage and carry on despite everything it had probably seen. Its creator had died, it had carried a long tradition of pushing his descendants to their limits to the point some, including Rio’s own mother, had removed it from their surroundings, it had even seen the Cultural Revolution. No person was able to care for papers on a table that would be removed that same evening, not after… all this.

It looked at her, expression as unreadable as usual, and she stared back. Lips parted, hesitated briefly.

“Another bad day?” it added, softening. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

But it smiled again as it left the table behind to approach. Even if her life and mood had improved in general, she wasn’t able to shake the deep, underlying thoughts that had awoken earlier in her life. They returned tirelessly, pointing with a cruel finger at what most didn’t notice. None of this mattered. Even her awareness of this fact changed nothing for her fate, nor for the world around them.

In the bland, meaningless sea that surrounded her, Elm Root stood, immutable in its familiar insipidity. It knew, it knew more than anyone, and yet, it smiled. It moved, it talked, it cooked, it gathered paper in neat stacks.

She hated this smile, as much as she sought it.

Its steps only stopped a few centimetres away from her, gaze not leaving her for a second. She wouldn’t run away, in case that was a concern. Not enough energy for that. Instead, they watched, they spied on each other in silence. Rio’s hands weighed heavily in the pockets of her coat, and she suddenly realised she needed to stretch her back, removing a distant pain she hadn’t really noticed until then. How long had she spent there, facing the outside world and the same, irrelevant bushes she saw every day? Wearing a watch would only worsen the thoughts.

And how long were they going to stay there? Indistinct, rhetorical question of course. He wouldn’t go anywhere. He would wait, wait for her, wait for the next Hikari, abiding the new rules of the new game without a complaint since he’d toy with them – artist included – just as much.

In her case, the game included a longing in his eyes, a special spark that she recognised from people she had met before. At this moment, he contemplated her lips with quiet interest, the corner of his mouth frozen in an expression she refused to name. Would she play along? Would that be doing him a favour, or hurting him ever further in his eternal pointless journey?

He had snapped her out of her thoughts, back to her own body, more than once. Despite everything, including nagging, including his overwhelming will, she refused to torture him further.

[niwatari-rei]

Masterlist Baku “this is why i hate summer.” 

Daisuke & Dark “i’m so hot..” “loving the confidence.” “oh shut up.” Daisuke & Takeshi “what are you guys talking about? i love this weather!” KeiRio “you’re gonna melt. get in here.”

Takeshi & Sekimoto “what are you guys talking about? i love this weather!” “ew, you’re all sweaty...”

[niwatari-rei]

So Long Sentiment No. 15: "I don't need you to help me, I can handle things myself." Makeshift bandages | Suppressed Suffering | "I'm fine"

"I'm fine." Rio would tell it time and time again, uncaring of the fact that her hand could barely hold the brush. Such were the words of each and every generation Hikari that Elm Root has watched thus far. Rio herself was no exception to this at all. No matter how many brush strokes she'd add to this piece...This short life of hers could never be avoided. Out of all the Hikaris that the artwork had met, it had to admit Rio was the interesting out of them.

And possibly the most tragic one of all.