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itsgrimeytime · 9 months

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Magnolia In May (Part Four) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Part 1, 2, 3...

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TWS: rumors, regency era kind of flirting, marriage mention, stress.

[[A/N: pretty blue eyes 🤲🤲🤲. Anyway, literally in love with my own series. Takes place directly after part 3. Simp behavior from Mr. Grimes in this one girlies. Peep the Pride and Prejudice (2005) reference 👀👀👀. Thanks for reading!!! ]]

"Ms. Greene," he spoke, a bit breathlessly with a grin that sent your heart into a bit of a frenzy. And your Headmistress certainly made note of it, eyes heavily flickering between the two of you.

Flushing a deep shade of crimson, you curtsied properly -a smile of your own smoothing across your lips, "Mr. Grimes."

...

"You know each other?" Your Headmistress questioned, and you could tell she was about one tick of the left about to explode.

You blinked, your precious little bubble popped by the reality of her near breakdown -it was time for damage control, "Yes, I helped him find his daughter in the markets, ma'am."

Mr. Grimes seemed to notice the energy as well, rushing to your aid, "It was a very polite encounter, I must commend your raising of 'er, really."

Father paused, absorbing the information as Headmistress seemed to deflate just a smidge -smile becoming more genuine at the compliment, "It's rather hard work, so I appreciate the recognition, Mr. Grimes."

And then your father spoke, rather pointed and direct -a flash of something in his eyes that you had never quite seen in him before, "I assume you gifted the new basket then?"

He paused, seeming to react to the steely look he held in his eyes with more poise, "A gift for the help, yes."

The Headmistress pursed her lips, her eyes passing over him in a questioning gaze, "An incredibly expensive gift, though, is it not?"

You suddenly realized, standing in the space between your two parents with the handsome man that had occupied quite too much of your mind, that they thought he was courting you. Secretly courting you, nonetheless.

The flush of crimson rising on your cheeks surely must've rivaled Mr. Elliotts' prized tomatoes. Every inkling in your body told you to rush off with an excuse of finding Michonne, requesting a drink, complimenting a lady's dress far across the ballroom, anything-

Yet, you stayed strictly still.

It was kind of like you felt that as soon as you stepped away, Mr. Grimes would no longer be real. He'd vanish into thin air -a mere daydream of your own. But it was real, and he was here, and you knew that.

It was just far, far too lucky.

And maybe that's why your father and Headmistress were being utterly horrifying. Because the universe needed to even out, and spoil any sort of success you might have wi-

"I do not put a price on my children's lives, ma'am. It was only fair to gift somethin' just as priceless, wouldn't ya say?"

Oh.

Ms. Elisa paused, taken aback -it felt rather unreal to you, "Well, yes, I suppose."

"A fair trade," Father agreed, eyes affectionately glazing over his own children -you smiled at it. He was truly quite a softy at heart.

The moment was rather short-lived, as Headmistress continued her brigade for reasons currently unknown to you. You knew she was rather direct, and it often scared off more high-society people with ease -a scarily quick ease.

But it was a trait you rather admired in her, up until right this moment.

"Are you to raise them alone, Mr. Grimes?" She posed as if asking what was his favorite meal of the day -a sense of casualty that harshly clashed with the sentiment.

To ask a man about his parenting habits upon meeting him? You were sure that if you died on the floor right in that very moment, it would be less mortifying.

Instead, Mr. Grimes grinned -a sort of pleased grin like he was rather amused by the question, "I am searchin' for someone to mother 'em, Ms. Elisa. If that's what you're askin'."

"Yes," she clarified, "-it is."

Father leveled a look between the two, eyes heavy on Mr. Grimes -embarrassment burnt heavy on your cheeks at the implication of this entire conversation.

You weren't daft.

Headmistress was seeing how qualified a suitor he was for you, and if he had a needed space for a wife. If he was looking for one, even.

And he was.

There was a part of you, that swirled with the sort of butterflies at the thought of someone so established even considering your hand. And maybe a little outrageous to assume so, it had just been a basket. But still, despite the logic prevailing your brain, you harbored a little flame of hope in your heart. You'd never felt so connected to a gentleman, and if nothing else, wished to know him more.

"You know," your father cleared his throat -a sort of michevious glimmer shimmering in his eye, "-Headmistress, I do believe I saw Mrs. Gusten in the crowd earlier. Should we make our introductions?"

She shriveled her nose, clearly displeased by the name -you had yet to know why, as she joined his side, "Y/N, darling, would you keep Mr. Grimes company while we do some chatting? It's rather boring work for a fair young lady such as yourself."

You bit your lip from saying anything too improper (ever aware of the present company), merely smiling politely, "Of course, Headmistress."

The crimson on your cheeks had yet to lessen, only worse by the pure embarrassment on your part -as if your family had been trying to get him run off.

"They did that on purpose, then?"

You spun to match his eyes, somehow forgetting the now duty to talk to him -that you knew his name. You were on his estate-

Stopping your thought process, you exhaled -trying to smooth out a smile out of your mortification, "Which part of it was it that got you? Was it the incessant pestering about the gift, or the rather... open question of if you were looking to marry?"

You'd expected a sort of quip, a usual back and forth in banter -but he remained an unusual sort of silent. Blue eyes heavy on your face as his fingers briefly fidgetted with the golden button.

"I am," he spoke, quickly, as if the words held a fiery breath. As if they burnt his tongue if he held them back too long -scarred tissue and an unspoken opinion left in its wake.

"You are... what?" You curiously questioned, eyebrow hesitantly raised at his unusual demeanor -nervous.

"Looking to marry," he cleared his throat, something wonderfully pink gathering along his cheekbones, "-I mean."

You bit your lip, trying to cut down such a smile (you made him nervous). Pondering for a second just how to respond to such an assertion, he was making sure you knew. You.

"Is that supposed to scare me?"

"Scare you? No," Mr. Grimes answered, weighed heavily in a practiced polite tone -you were in awe at the smooth transition he displayed, "-I just. Well, I wanted ya to know."

You paused, once again left rather speechless -questions on the tip of your tongue, "Wanted me to know?"

"Yes, you," he answered with his dashing grin -unflinchingly, before blue eyes dusting across your dress.

"It doesn't-" you added, it felt delayed slipping past your lips like an instinct, "-it doesn't scare me."

"I imagine nothing does," Mr. Grimes replied, a tease but you saw his shoulders relax ever so slightly -nerves dissipated.

"Good assumption," you smiled, the ballroom bustling around you -yet it felt the same as it did in the market. Like all the noise was merely background to your conversation. His blue eyes always felt so focused on you -even now, with the music and the dresses and the show-

He was still looking at you.

You flushed, turning your eyes to focus upon the environment around you -all marble and gold accents. Even as it was filled, you found it was rather breathtaking. The clash of movement from the shine of the marble -all white, while the suits and dresses enveloped the area in color. Your lips parted, words slipping from your lips as if on instinct, "It's beautiful here."

Mr. Grimes followed your eyes, dusting over something you assumed he was rather familiar with -trying to see the room in your light, maybe.

"All my mother's handiwork," he spoke -tone distantly fond, "-she'd always had a passion for the details."

"She did wonderfully."

He grinned, a sort of loose kind -less pressure and posture, more nostalgic. Looking at the casual smile, you somehow wished to commit the vision to memory -delicately take it and store it in your chest (close to your heart).

"High praise, I assume?" he teased -eyes flickering to match yours.

"If you wish to think so," you laughed -hand nervously fidgetting with your skirt fabric, "-I'm starting to think you have rather high expectations of me, Mr. Grimes."

"Not high expectations," he corrected, hands straightening his coat without extra thought, "-just 'ave yet to find a flaw."

You teased back -ignoring the flutter in your chest, "I don't believe you should tell a lady you're looking for her flaws, sir."

He laughed, loud and joyful -like the brilliant chirp of a bird in the morning, melodic.

You couldn't help the pride that swelled up in your chest, all bright and shiny. All these people who he certainly knew, and yet he stayed here with you.

"And what would ya recommend I say?"

"To what?" You responded, now fully facing him -the beauty of the ballroom an echo of the background, "To a lady? Well, what is the purpose of your conversation?"

"To encourage affection," he answered, solidly, eyes intent on yours. Watching, and listening like it was important. Like everything you said was important-

You stilled for a moment, eyes dashing across the floor where Maggie was enraptured in the movement. She stayed intently focused on Mr. Rhee, her own smile beautifully painted on her face -one you'd hardly seen day to day. Only reserved for special occasions.

"Dancing," you smiled at the two of them, nearly forgetting the man who stood beside you -getting lost in the crowds of couples all so in sync. You'd danced many times, but hardly with someone you wanted to.

Never someone you wanted to, if you dared to say it.

"Well," he continued, clearing his throat and adjusting some of his lapels -pink brushed across his cheeks, "-in that case, would you do me the honor of the next set?"

"You're looking to encourage my affection, then?"

Mr. Grimes laughed, light and airy -embarrassed but still composed, "Yes if you wish it."

You bit back a grin, smile threatening to slip across your face with ease, "Well then, I'd be rather honored to accept. Although-" you suddenly spun around, trying to catch the eye of the soldier who had asked you before, "-I do believe I may have cheated another man out of a dance."

"I'm not y'er first offer?" He questioned, eyes scattered behind you as well, in a sort of analytical kind of way.

"Once again, I'd suggest you didn't tell a lady that you weren't surprised to be their first offer."

"You misconstrue my words, Ms. Y/N," your name on his tongue made you freeze for a moment -as he continued, playfully, "-I mean, I'm much disappointed I didn't ask ya first. Men asking you to dance with how beautiful you are is only a given, I'd just hoped to beat out the competition tonight."

You flushed, diverting your eyes back to him, "Well, thank you, I'm glad you think me as such. But I am curious, how did you know I'd attend?"

Mr. Grimes stilled, the pink up to his ears now and flushed below his collar, "I didn't know, I suppose I just hoped."

"And sent out personal invitations?" You questioned, eyebrows raised, "-In fact, how did you know that was my family? Or was it a sort of guessing game?"

If possible, the man in front of you grew a brighter pink and a part of your stomach flipped at the idea that it was you causing such a fluster, "I... Well, it's rather embarrassin', I'm not sure I should share."

"Right," you teased -trying to soothe his nerves, "-and what would call my father and Headmistress asking if you were to marry?"

"Endearing," he answered, honestly, face set in a sort of dashing smile that crinkled at the eye, "-it's endearin' that they care about ya so."

"Oh, please," you tsked -ignoring the crimson on your own cheeks (quite the pair the two of you must've looked to be), "-you're just avoiding the question."

Mr. Grimes grinned, "Is it that obvious?"

"Very."

He sighed, fingers running over his lapel again (a habit, you realized now), "-Do you remember what the courier said to whomever opened the door?"

"Hardly," you hummed in response, something else was particularly on your mind, "-but, I believe it was confirming who we were. What residence he was in."

"Right, yes," the man spoke, a bit too quickly, "-well, apparently, there are 10 'Greene' households in the approximate vicinity."

You paused, just for a second processing his words, but he merely waited for you. Not eager to say it himself.

"You..." you began -a twist of disbelief and flattery bundling in your stomach, "You sent a personal invitation to every 'Greene' household?"

"It was all I knew of you," he spoke, a little wistfully -and the crimson painted your cheeks as naturally as the puff of breath out of your chest, "-I know it's strange an' out of place, but I found I'd like to get to know you, Ms. Greene. The proper ways."

You were speechless, eyes flitted across his face -trying to find any sort of deceit or anything but genuine honesty. Your heart fluttered in your chest, almost absent-mindedly; natural with the presence of Mr. Grimes.

"Berry baskets aren't proper then?"

"Sure they are," he smiled -and you found you still couldn't quite grasp the pure charm held there, "-in the way I intended them."

Raising a brow, you inquired, "And what way is that, Mr. Grimes?"

"Oh," he answered with the smooth nature of a wind's gentle breeze -blue eyes set with a sense of honesty that bubbled up your arm, goosebumps in the wake, "-I'm sure you're well aware."

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #magnolia in may

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emry-stars-oc · 15 days

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Some info about Bo’s home country of Beldún (sometimes called “the old country” to avoid confusion with the northern neighboring country of Bylldewn) and why I draw some of these kids in masks so much 🤲

Find the art-only post of the Beldans here - maps & fun facts & transcription of the text below!

Where they are on Avan (at least during this drafting phase) ^

Fun facts:

In the example, Prince Bo wears a blind mask - beneath the delicate metalwork it’s made of fine mesh material, allowing the wearer to see out while remaining hidden. Ambrose’s séchrin, conversely, don’t need to be made to see out of as he’s blind in that eye. His are usually made from solid simple materials.

Among family members and close friends, Beldans don’t bother to wear their séchrin

Children generally don’t wear séchrin until they’re old enough to be considered fully fledged members of society (a possible age for that at the moment is the second-to-last age of passage, maybe around the equivalent of 16 years old)

As in all other things, Beldan high society takes these and other cultural rules to their extremes - far more seriously than the general public ever bothers with.

(unrelated extra fun fact: Beldan culture and the Neveldan culture of Bylldewn have VERY different definitions of what features are seen as "ugly".)

Transcript:

hyCiaethel-derived societies hold important ancestral beliefs on the concept of being "whole". In Beldan cultures, what they consider "blemishes" are seen as signs of disfavor from the gods. These blemishes can range anywhere from small birthmarks to massive deformities. It's considered polite among all walks of life to hide large or obvious blemishes when in public. Anything used to hide a blemish is commonly called a séchrin (roughly pronounced shehrin), or a covering.

Traditionally, someone born with a defect or blemish is seen as more unlucky than someone that gains such later in life - it's a sign that the person had displeased a/the god(s) in a previous life grievously enough that the disfavor carried into the new.

However, the common folk and even the younger generation of nobles are shifting away from this belief, and view all blemishes of equal severity as equal disfavor.

(It should come as no surprise then that the people of Beldún expect their nobility - even more so the governing family - to be whole and thus highly favored.)

Common folk in most cases hide their blemishes with regular clothing, makeup, and skin-toned mesh fabrics. On the other hand, high class and especially nobility have special accessories or clothing made for themselves - beautiful masks or fake limbs they hide behind almost constantly, as they are always under the gods' scrutiny.

(Nobility's servants who wear masks are often given séchrin depicting neutral or pleasant expressions, while nobles' have a more mysterious or harsh tone.)

(Both Prince Bo and his shield wear the coverings of a mask and gloves, though the majority of their blemished skin is hidden under clothing and a little bit of makeup.)

This forward and obvious recognition of their physical flaws is touted as maturity, honesty, and humility - but it isn't difficult to imagine which of the two subsets of nobles (blemished or whole) benefits from the practice.

#finally a real worldbuilding post here #now to flip it ENTIRELY and draw Bo getting to show off his “blemish” in Bylldewn #oc art #my art #ocs #original character #west facing #royal oc #bo church #ambrose larkspur #chedenna church #worldbuilding #avan

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lucassinclaer · 7 months

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3 or 11 + hellcheer, please? 🥺🤲

helloooo!! okay, so this was a delight! i did 3 for now but probably gonna circle back to 11 once i've done the other ones still in my inbox bc gd but they're soft.

send me a things you said prompt

3. things you said too quietly

Chrissy has never been good at making herself be heard. Looked at, yes, admired for her narrow stature and her pretty face (or criticized for her stature not being narrow enough and her face showing any sign of life that wasn’t a fragile, porcelain smile.)

Even now, leaving expectations behind, she still isn’t a loud person. She knows. The evidence is all over.

Eddie is occupying the kitchen when she emerges from her study session. The timer went off and she's done for the day. There's times when she'll force herself to go over but the better days are when she can call it quits when she planned to.

On her fuzzy socks, she's quiet and Eddie is absorbed in D&D prep. So she pauses in the doorway to sneak a look at him.

He's sat in the way that'll make his leg fall asleep and biting his nails. There’s ink stains all over his fingers. And she just says it quietly into the air, “I think I might love you.”

Her heart sinks the first second after it’s out there. Certain and fragile. Wobbling.

Eddie doesn’t react.

“Mh?” he says, looking up from his maps and his notes. His eyes are glazed over. He's in a different world, somewhere where dark wizards reign but are always eventually toppled.

It's perfectly innocent and a complete disaster. If she thought about this happening, imagined it, she would want to disappear off the face of the earth. A nightmare scenario and shameful and so unsuited to all those perfect love stories she was meant to fit into like a cut-out and… And Chrissy finds, she doesn’t mind.

She hates the thought of being perfect when that’s what she was raised to be. She hates the way guilt caves in on her every time she takes up more space than what people want to assign her. She hates it with an aching, syrupy kind of anger that sits deep in her chest and can’t ever see the light of day in its entirety.

And it’s Eddie.

He doesn’t like perfect, either. He likes her clumsy and full of mistakes. Not so bad when you see it in others, too, he told her once.

She's over being scared that he won’t look at her the same way if she puts a foot wrong. She'd survive it even if he did.

Chrissy's never been good at making herself heard and she might never be. But maybe that’s okay.

They have time.

She smiles. “Nothing. Do you want some coffee?”

A brief flash of recognition in his eyes, “Coffee!” which means yes.

As she passes Eddie, she cards a hand through his hair and he leans into it with a sigh, automatic and without intention. She knows him and he knows her and when she needs him to hear her, she'll make him. There’s time.

#i hope this is okay!#eddie disaster d&d prepper his most reliable trait TO ME (also the avoidance and not being able to stfu)#hellcheer #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson #bylertruther #srsly tysm for sending thisssssss!!#*mine #*fics #*ficlets

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missmungoe · 2 years

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🌹🤲 here u go miss

(Another bit from Peony and Silver, because I started tinkering with it last night and now I might actually finish this chapter!)

Their squabbling forgotten, Shanks and Buggy had gathered around the liquor crate, from within which the baby watched them, her brown eyes wide and curious. Roger stood above them, making silly faces at her.

When it earned him an infectious giggle, “She’s cute,” Roger approved with a laugh, wiggling a finger at her.

“She is rather enchanting,” Shakky agreed, smiling when she giggled at one of his faces, and her bar had seen much laughter in the years she’d been running her business, but none like this.

Grinning, “That was my initial tipoff that she wasn’t Rayleigh’s,” Roger said, with a look at his first mate, who bore the teasing with practiced patience. “But she could have been yours, Shakky, with that hair.”

But as he said it, she saw his eyes pause on it, and the fey shade coaxed out by the sunlight pouring through the windows of her bar, his brows furrowing a bit, as though in recognition. And she didn’t need to wonder if he remembered her; the girl he’d helped her rescue from the slave ship all those years ago.

“What’s her name?” Shanks asked. He was watching the baby, a grin splitting his cheeks as he reached out to poke her nose, the big brown eyes tracking him.

Shakky smiled, and said gently, “Makino.”

She watched them observing her, Buggy with suspicion and Shanks with gentle delight, the baby’s brown eyes moving between them, and Roger.

“Babies are ugly,” Buggy said then, his arms crossed. “She’s so squishy-looking.”

“I bet I was a cute baby,” Shanks said. Then with a look at Buggy, chirped, “You probably weren’t.”

Buggy choked, but before he could splutter his outrage, Shanks told Makino, “Don’t hold his face against him, Makino-chan. He’s still growing into it.”

“Shanks, I’ll kill you!!”

He pounced, only for Roger to lift him calmly by the back of his shirt, holding him out of reach as Shanks stuck his tongue out. Makino had hold of his finger, her wide eyes fixed on him. “See?” Shanks asked, grinning at her. “She can’t take her eyes off me, but then I don’t blame her, given the alternative.”

“Captain, let me go, I’m gonna strangle him!!”

Watching them, Shakky looked at Rayleigh, and mused, “I see you have your hands full.”

That his only answer was a sigh said enough.

#Shakky x Rayleigh #Gol D. Roger #Shanks #Buggy #fanfic #mungoe writes #WIP meme #thank you<3<3 #this has been sitting untouched in my WIP folder since 2019 #I had the whole thing planned out I just...ran out of steam #but I've written a lot since yesterday and ahhhhhh I'm so happy!

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transhawks · 1 year

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hello! how about ❌⏳🎯👀🤲🤭 for the ask game?

❌What's a trope you will never write?

I had to scratch my head for this. I think, perhaps, fake-dating trope? I don't mind reading it but it doesn't sound particularly fun to write.

⏳How long does it take you to write a fic, or a chapter?

Oh, boy. So, uhh, I have very severe ADHD and despite being on medications for it, the thing is with writing it's always been a struggle. I kind of have to wait for like...waves of inspiration and motivation to hit to follow through or else I'm just writing a paragraph or two or barely doing anything with Sprinto (which does help motivate me). So if I'm really on it, I know I can do up to 3.5k words a day. If I'm not, it can take months, ha. It's why my updates are so sporadic because I really need the right headspace.

🎯Have any of your readers accurately guessed major plot points? Care to share which?

Not in this fandom, but man, my naruto fanfics had a lot of this. I miss writing for that fandom. I do think that the next chapter of Midnights will have a lot of predictions, ha, and I really hope a few people guess what Hawks is going to do. Maybe I'll ask people to in the last Author's Note

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

I bullied myself into liking afohawks so I'm writing a Younger!Hawks infiltrates a Villain-Factory Lab and stumbles into All For One fic. I kind of want to write them circling each other like predators fic because I feel like All For One would get what Keigo's doing in canon right now in a different environment and if he wasn't panicking over Tomura's body. Also, it's really so I can make jokes about canon in that verse.

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

“You’re awake. Good.” A deep baritone speaks, making the hair on Hawks’s arms raise up and goosebumps pebble all over his skin. An unknown feeling of dread washes over him, his instincts telling him that whoever is speaking is dangerous. “Who are you?” A chuckle, deep and rumbling like an avalanche meets his ears. “Now, now, I’ve been led to believe you’re intelligent. You don’t need to ask me that, do you?” His heart squeezes in fear and recognition. A boogie man - and an urban legend. The file he’d read on him from the HPSC classified archives was full of so many redactions and edits, as if the people compiling it didn’t know what is true or not. A specter that has haunted Japan for generations, always there in the shadows, greedy fingers in every pie and shadow behind every cataclysmic event. More myth than man. What had the president said? (If there’s evil in this world, he might be the source) “All For One.” Hawks gasps out. “You’re All For One.”

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

Let's check!

LMAO, wasn't expecting this but now I'm cackling!!!!!

Thank you for the questions and waiting for me to answer them!

#ask games #my writing

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