#{ How Unslightly; Questionable

[jam3sacaster]

“You deserve a real man.”

(Rivals) Rupert Campbell-Black x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 / Hopelessly convinced you’re destined to be alone, Rupert shows you that you couldn’t be further from the truth…

18+ FANFIC / Soft & protective Rupert 🥺 Reader character aged at 21. Hope you enjoy! 🩷

As winter began its acquisition of Rutshire, the bluebell woods had transformed into a frosted palace of violet bottles, the imposing tree branches billowed majestically in the wind and the iced ground crunched beneath your feet. Wrapped up carefully in a paprika-orange woollen jumper, blue mom jeans and black boots, you shuddered under the cold as you watched a grey squirrel flitter across the frosted grass. Your cheeks were mottled with red, incoming tears stinging your eyes against the chilled air. You had been on three dates since living in Rutshire, and every single one had left you down-trodden and weary, them attempting to coax you into bed after a few drinks. What if you’ll be seen this way forever, destined to a life of being holed up in your thatched cottage alone?

The spirited squirrel darted across the field at the sound of a thunderous bark. Turning your head, you observed the most beautiful Blue Lurcher bounding after it, tail wagging furiously. “Blue!” A husky, authoritative voice yelled after him, their footsteps crunching under the frost as they sprinted after them. Blue rescinded his torment of the squirrel, and instead took to stretching his legs and running laps across the field instead. “Well hello, darling.” The man spoke, catching up with you now and looking down at you. “Whatever’s the matter? Cold?” He asked, using his thumb to wipe away a salty tear from the corner of your eye. “Rupert! No, I’m fine.” You snapped, bunching your jumpers’ sleeves over your wrists and patting your eyes dry. “Is he yours?” You asked, pointing over at Blue. “Yes. He’s rather something, isn’t he?” Rupert smiled adoringly at his favourite pup.

“You didn’t answer my question.” He added, glaring down at you, his chiselled features softening. Your face was scrubbed clean of makeup and you allowed your espresso-brown curls to bound over your shoulders, untameable and majestic. “I went on a date today. It was going… okay, until he had one too many gins and told me that, whilst I was moderately attractive, I am by no means attractive enough to be with.” You whimpered, his harsh words replaying themselves constantly. Slightly embarrassed, you failed to mention that the date had also informed you that your nose was too upturned, your skin appeared blemished by freckles and your makeup was most unslightly. Rupert’s face contorted in anger. How could anyone say such a thing, and to you? He could only notice, all too well, that you had the most adorable button nose and a smattering of freckles across your nose and cheeks that he’d adore to kiss, one by one.

“Well, he’s a fool. He would be immensely lucky to have you.” Rupert snapped, contemplating how easy it would be to track down the man and make him regret his words. “Nobody my age gives me a second glance. If someone like him thinks I’m not good enough, who will? What if I end up dying, alone and unloved and… and utterly unattractive?” You splutter through emerging tears, hyperventilating frantically. Without a second thought, Rupert took you into his arms, cradling you protectively. Your head rested against his chest, accelerated heartbeat instantaneously returning to its rhythmic thump as you inhaled Rupert’s musky aftershave. “Angel, don’t be absurd. You,” Rupert announced as he peeled you from his chest and held you at arms length, “are exquisite. I never thought I’d find myself saying this, but I marvel at your beauty.” Rupert expressed, feeling his core melt as the wintery sky illuminated your cerulean eyes.

“You’re just saying that.” You sniffled in response. “This boy that you went on a date with has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. You deserve a real man. A man would never treat you like that.” He frowned, and removed his grip from your shoulders. Little, delicate snowflakes had begin to fall, settling softly on the ground, falling your wispy eyelashes and creating a crown of frost on your hair. “What man is going to want me?” You scoffed, rolling your eyes to the heaven. Inching towards you, Rupert raked his hand through the silken tresses of your hair, stroking his thumb against your mottled cheek. The breath caught in your throat — longing for his caress to last for eternity. With stifled breath, Rupert leant into you and delivered a tender kiss upon your lips. As you exhaled and relented to his advances, Rupert grew more passionate — enveloping you in his arms and growing more lustful is his kiss. You never wanted him to let go.

Eventually, he pulled away, his intent forever marked upon your lips. “I couldn’t think of better lips I would want to kiss for the rest of my life. I will show you how a real man should treat you.” Rupert grinned, and for the first time today, you allowed a small smirk to tug at the corners of your lips. You were now so immensely grateful that your date had failed — Rupert was all you ever needed.

[gloryundimmed]

Eito’s question was really more of a statement, wasn't it? “They really got you good.” How could he tell the worried man standing in front of him that it could’ve— should’ve— been much worse? That the knife hit the side of his gun, stopping it from slicing much further into his flesh? That if it had gone deeper, it would’ve penetrated his kidney, and that would’ve killed him within minutes? That he had suffered much worse than this laceration? In the end, he decided to keep those things to himself. Eito’s was already stressed out, and that would only make things harder for him.

Yet no matter how hard he tried to catch the other man’s gaze, it always sat stubbornly on something else. Even now, he refused to even look at him. Although it could’ve been the blood, he couldn’t help but feel it ran deeper than that. Of course, he never expected Eito to help patch him up, or even wanted him to, but he knew if his partner wasn’t doing something to help, he might fall apart, so the hitman let him continue.

He wasn’t as practiced at stitching up wounds, so it was painful, but he tried not to let it show. Every once in a while, he’d let out a muted hiss, knuckles turning white as he gripped the chair he was sitting in. No matter how painful it was, it didn’t rival the pain of Eito looking away from him in this moment. Selfishly, he wanted reassurance— reassurance that Eito accepted him, that he wouldn’t ever leave, but that would be asking far too much. That much was clear when they finally made eye contact, and he turned away almost immediately.

And it wasn’t like he didn’t get it, like he didn’t understand why Eito was acting this way, but fuck, did it hurt. So he reached out to grab his boyfriend as he began to walk away, selfishly wanting to be seen for a longer period of time. Something even left his mouth, something he had been wanting to say since he had come home.

Look at me. This is who I am.

The crack in his lover’s voice caused a pang of ache deep in his gut, and guilt blossomed in his mind. He hated seeing Eito like this— scared, hurt, on the edge of his rope— and the fact that it was his fault made it so much worse. He knew Eito liked him, but was it truly the real him that he cared for? It was hard to say. He spoke of wanting something better for him, but did he really deserve something better at this point? After hiding away the most unslightly part of him, the one that loved making others suffer? There was no way.

With a sigh, he took Eito’s bloody hands and placed them on his cheeks. “Eito, look at me. I am okay. I made it back to you. Isn’t that enough? I’ll keep coming back, I promise.” Kai’s voice was soft but firm, but he didn’t have it in him to hold Eito’s hands when all he wanted was to pry away and tend to his wound.

Instead, he let Eito go, auric gaze sinking to the floor. He bit the skin of his bottom lip, a maelstrom of guilt, fear, and shame swirling within him. His boyfriend still didn’t want to see him for who he really was. Would he ever, or was this relationship doomed to failure as he always knew it would be?

“…Okay.”

@gloryundimmed asked: " look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you wish it wasn't. " Kai to Eito because I want to hurt -> blood, blood, gallons of the stuff !

it's with shaky hands that eito works. he knows he doesn't have to tend to kai's wounds like this, he knows how to patch himself up just fine on his own. but still, this is eito's way of showing that he cares ; pushing past his fear of blood, the way the sight of it makes him lightheaded in favor of stitching up kai's arm - an act of selflessness to show that he cared. for what was love if not sacrifice?

another scar to add to the collection, it would seem. for a while it's silent between them. eito is usually so comfortable with silence - it's never bothered him but this one is unsettling - tense. the two of them clearly have something to say to each other, it's just a matter of who breaks the silence first. it's eito, surprisingly, who speaks up first - can't stop himself, not when he can feel the tension building with every second that passes.

"...they really got you good, huh?" the moment the question leaves his lips he wishes he could take it back, pauses for a second before finishing up the stitching a moment later. despite the fact that eito now knows what kai does for a living, he hasn't found it any easier to deal with. there are times where he can almost forget, pretend that anything about their relationship was normal - but nights like this, while few and far between, served to remind eito of who kai was, what he did, what he does - what he would no doubt continue to do regardless of whether eito approved or not.

was he a horrible person for knowing that kai killed people and deciding to stay anyway? was he selfish for wanting to keep him close? stupid for thinking that maybe he could turn the tides and set kai on the straight and narrow? eito knew it wasn't going to be straight forward, knew that he had no right to ask kai to change who he was for him - and he would never ask that, but that's a lie, isn't it?

for as much as eito tries not to pry too much, it's evident that he disapproves of kai's profession, it's obvious that he'd rather the other didn't kill people -- but is that such an outlandish thing to want? was eito so wrong for wishing that the man he... cared about, didn't do something so horrible? that he found a day job that wouldn't land him with life in prison, or death?

"there - just um, hold on a second, i'll grab a cloth and clean it up a little before wrapping it." he pointedly avoids looking at kai throughout the whole exchange, not because he doesn't want to but because he doesn't think he can without getting emotional. even the slightest tell is enough to clue the other on to something being wrong, eito doesn't want to give him the chance to pick up on a single thing, just wants to try and get through this exchange while remaining calm.

eito turns for a second, rummaging around in the cupboards before finding a cloth, running it under warm water before dabbing gently at kai's arm, hyper aware that the other's gaze is on him the entire time, watching him, picking apart his reactions, or lack of, really. "is there something on my face that's interesting?" it's then that eito finally glances up to meet kai's gaze, regrets it as soon as he does because oh - he can't hide now.

turns his head off to the side, mutters something about getting bandages from the bathroom and starting to walk off, but kai's got a hold of his wrist to stop him from leaving so quickly. look at me.

a shaky breath, and eito finds he can't do it - not because he's scared of kai, nor out of shame. no, he can't look because he's scared of the conversation that would no doubt unfold if he did, the things he might say. it's never eito's intention to cause drama, to start something - but for how long could he truly be expected to hold his tongue? with every time that kai came back to him covered in blood, bruises, stab wounds -- anything of the sort, eito would forever be reminded of that which he tried so hard to forget.

he knew he couldn't ignore it forever, but he'd at least hoped that... ah, what had he really hoped for? that kai might change his ways? how completely and utterly naive of him. someone shows interest in him and immediately eito thinks he's capable of the world.

kai's voice rings in his ears, the hold on his wrist burning into his skin and eito can't hide forever, not like this. when he looks up at kai it's clear to see just how much he's struggling, though he'd tried to keep it hidden.

look at me. this is who i am, no matter how much you wish it wasn't.

"don't... don't talk like you know exactly what i'm thinking. you don't know--" he hates the way his voice cracks, gives way to how he's really feeling. "i may not like what you do sometimes, but that doesn't mean i'd change who you are - i like you." it couldn't be further from the truth, and maybe that's what makes it all so difficult to process ; to care for someone despite their flaws, despite the horrible things they've done.

"but is it so wrong of me to want something better for you? something that doesn't have me wondering if i'll see you again every time you leave? is it so wrong for me to want you to be okay?" his free hand reaches up to try and gently pry kai's fingers off of his wrist. "now stay there, please? just... let me take care of you."

[whitedeergirl]

The Magic of Boundary Stones: Uncovering Bluestone.

Blue Skull Oil Painting by Northern California Artist Mark Webster.

I’ve come to realise that research is a necessary but dangerous thing for a writer, at least for this writer. My WIP is set very firmly in the flat green fields of my childhood home, with its river full of spirits, its medieval personality and its ever present ties to a feudal system sunk deep into its bones. I grew up in a Duchy. The Duke awarded me my English prize at school, shook my hand and said he rather fancied reading the book I’d picked. He felt like an interloper from another time; we both felt uncomfortable. He didn’t radiate power or entitlement, but he contained a thousand years of both, his title and massive wealth having sealed the surrounding countryside in amber. And it remains unchanged, and is, as a result of this, a rich hunting ground for time-slipped writer with a magpie’s eye for the forgotten.

I’ve scavenged names from the ancient tithe maps (Lazarus, Dulcibella; absolute gold), used vividly remembered landmarks, pinned the unfurling story to a piece of earth held intact and unchanged for generations, and in the simple magic of these things, have made the imaginary solid and daylit; my characters walk in a living landscape.

The River Dee as it flows through Huntington.

But, as wonderful as this journey can be, the enchanted woods of research are absolutely riddled with rabbit holes. Riddled. I set off in search of significant place on the river, a perfect, liminal, grass-meets-water space where my protagonist can do her unslightly unspooling, and immediately I’m lured off the path by the possible location of an ancient boundary stone – what a find! (True story: the ancient boundary stone in question, which now exists only in memory, was located on the western parish boundary of my novel’s setting. Placed alongside what was once a small rural road, its original location is buried beneath the Victorian villas of Chester’s suburbs. However, its most eye catching facet is its similarity to another boundary stone that was once located near Chester Castle and now resides in a garden off Chester's famous Walls – The Glover Stone; a mystery in itself. The Huntington boundary stone may have been called ‘The Bluestone’ and may even have given the neighbouring parish its name: Boughton. So how on earth could I resist going off-piste after finding an local ancient stone called The Bluestone? You bet it’s going straight into the novel.)

The Glover Stone.  Photo by James Button

You see, we all fell down that rabbit hole together.

And another sparkling little trinket that drew the eye was a small paragraph in an old newspaper archive. Insignificant to many, but precious in itself, it records a local Huntington ritual that is now lost to time, and clearly dates back to the area's pre-Christian roots; a rare survivor of the reformation and civil war:

“The Bounds of Huntington are ‘beaten’ in a strange fashion; the freemen and their sons march round with an ox-skull at their head, boundary holes are dug at the turns, a boy is chucked into the hole, and spanked with a spade; so the primitive landmarks are fixed in his memory.”

The North Wales Express. 30th September 1892.

Mayor Harry Dutton beating Chester city bounds, 1913.

The bounds are still beaten in some of the surrounding parishes at Rogation tide or midsummer, but no longer in Huntington, which, outside of the Duke’s Estate, has become a mostly residential area. Children are ‘bumped’ on parish boundary stones, communities gather to perambulate the parish lines, and the Duke has even re-instated a boundary marker on his land, but this particular ritual is long forgotten, and only recovered by accident buried deep in the dusty recesses of an abandoned rabbit hole. It wanted to be found, and I retain this precious fragment for posterity.

Looking for rabbit holes.

And, of course, it’s going in the damn book.

More Information:

Artist: Mark Webster

Chester: Beating the Bounds.

Glover Stone photo: Chesterwiki.

[steel-and-fire]

1, 8

1. What’s an important lesson your muse has learned over the past few years and how has that changed the way they live?

It's been quite a journey for Blis, especially lately. He learned, the hard way, and twice over, that happiness doesn't lie in acts of glory, or in endless searches for answers. Not in drinks, not in women, not in blood.

It lies in the people that are there for you. And you should be there for them, least you regret it.

8. How selfish/selfless is your muse? To what extent would they sacrifice themselves for others and is there anything they’d not give up?

This question has a contrast, of sorts. The Flame Bringer is, indeed, still a dragon, and that makes him quite the selfish prick, naturally. As far as strangers are concerned, he isn't really the most empathetic, and it is more often actions he consideres unslightly that will drive him into protecting or saving, rather than the actual care for the people.

On the other hand, if you are close to him, he will do anything for you, will care for neither himself nor the world. Not in the least.

He would never give up his sister's scale, from material possessions.