#accismus

[thatthirdtriplet]

Relationships:

Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne Dick Grayson & Jason Todd Tim Drake & Dick Grayson

Characters:

Dick Grayson Damian Wayne Jason Todd Tim Drake Bruce Wayne Alfred Pennyworth Barbara Gordon Pamela Isley

Additional Tags:

Batfamily (DCU) Batfamily (DCU) Feels Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne's Parent Dick Grayson Needs a Hug Grief/Mourning emotional Hurt/Comfort family Bonding depression not Canon Compliant like at all heavy emphasis on that canon Divergent Fix-It Dick Grayson Whump Scarecrow's Fear Toxin as a Plot Device Jason and Bruce talk out their issues this is not Tim bashing we love Timmy voice of Reason Alfred Pennyworth angst with a Happy Ending

Summary:

/ækˈsizməs/

noun

1. when one feigns disinterest or indifference for something they desire

2. a form of irony

Example: Dick buys two birthday cards for Damian. One starts with “For my son,” and the other says “To a cool guy.” Dick gives Damian the latter, and keeps the former locked away. He doesn’t need to make this into something it’s not.

Or, Dick is tasked with raising Damian in the wake of Bruce’s death. This is the fallout of their separation upon Bruce’s sudden and unexpected return.

[flurrys-creativity]

Accismus

accismus (n.) ~ feigning disinterest in something while actually desiring it

Pairing: Joshua Hong (Seventeen) x GN!Reader; Genre: Detective AU, Crime and Mystery, Angst, hints of fluff; Rating: sfw, pg-15; Warnings: mentions of assassins, crime and evil schemes, talking about a poison and killing, descriptions of poison effects, no death, also Joshua being Joshua; Wordcount: 2.770

Summary: Joshua was an infamous detective, known to crack every case on his desk. The police hailed him, the underworld feared him and you were supposed to end him.

A/N: Around five or six years ago I wrote a version of this story with original characters, I nearly forgot about it (as I never finished it too) but as I wanted to write a detective!shua story the idea came back to me. Also this video (which is quoted within the story) made me write this all as fast as possible. Please enjoy this one shot!

You watched his back silently while he prepared some tea for the both of you. Only his soft humming and the boiling of water filled the otherwise silent office room. ‘If he knew why you were here’, you thought to yourself, ‘he wouldn’t be so calm.’

Joshua Hong, the infamous detective, known in every corner within this big town, highly praised by the law enforcement and hated by the underworld. The exact Joshua stood a mere metres away from you, a mere metres away from a hired assassin.

Indeed, some crime bosses had decided on getting rid of the detective before he could bust their businesses since he became a high threat with his sharp mind and quick thinking. Though getting rid of such a famous person turned out to be a lot more complicated than the crime bosses thought, and so they hired you.

The shadow of the underworld, a rumour whispered among the residents of the town, an angel of death. 

You picked at your cuticles and scanned the office around you for a moment. Only two doors led out of the room, one being the entrance and the other a small bathroom according to the blueprint of the building. In the middle of the room were two couches separated by a small coffee table. Opposite to the entrance door stood a desk with several papers on it. Another table with a tea set, coffee machine and boiler stood right underneath the large window front, where Joshua stood and looked outside as he waited for the water to boil.

The blinds of the windows were pulled down, yet you still made out the letters on the windows, telling everyone behind the glass was a detective’s office. The only other thing within this room was a coat rack next to the entrance door.

“So”, Joshua said and turned around with a small tray in his hands, “what may I help you with?” He smiled softly, shortly glancing up to your face, before he placed the tray down and made you a cup of tea. 

He looked so gentle and innocent, completely contradicting the fierce image his name held. He grabbed his own tea cup, blowing over the hot liquid as he looked over the rim of the cup to you.

“It will sound trivial”, you said, putting on your best act. You slightly shook your head, letting a smile play over your lips while you looked down at the cup in your hands. “I’m sure my father had an affair.” You looked up through your eyelashes, wondering how the infamous detective would react. When he only nodded, inkling you to continue, you spoke up again: “I know you solved far more bigger cases and I truly want to apologise for coming with something so stupid to you, but I’m sure my father had another child. He said something ominous before he died and I couldn’t shake it off. I might have a sibling out there and I want to find them as they’d be my only living family now.”

Joshua hummed and nodded along to your explanation. “I see. Let me get something to write.” He placed his cup on the table and stood up, walking to his desk and rummaging through it. 

You quickly slipped your hand into your purse and pulled a tiny phial out of it, opening it as fast as possible and dropping the clear liquid into his cup of tea.

For a moment you looked at the phial in your hand, unsure what kind of poison it was exactly. You only got it from your client and agreed on using this instead of any other method or poison in that case.

You were well versed in quite a few ways of killing, ranging from strangulation over shooting up to poisoning. Usually though you had your own poisons, knowing exactly the dosage you needed for a job or what kind of poison would be most sufficient.

When Joshua turned back around with a pen and a writing pad, you hurriedly pushed the phial back into your purse, looking at the detective, who looked as calm as ever.

“Could you repeat some of the details again?” 

You stared at him, needing a second to recall the excuse you had used of being here in the first place. “Are you sure you want to take this case? I really don’t want to bother you with something like that.” 

Joshua placed the pen down on the writing pad and grabbed his cup of tea again, swirling the liquid inside of it around. For a second you feared he noticed something, getting stiff while wrecking your mind how to finish the job otherwise. “It’s not trivial or stupid if it bothers you”, Joshua said after drinking from the cup and placing it back on the table. 

You slumped back down into the cushions, relief momentarily spreading through your body. With him drinking from the cup you could consider your job done. You could simply leave now, saying you changed your mind, but something held you back.

Joshua picked the pen up again and twirled it between his long, slender fingers. He watched you intently, the soft smile never leaving his lips. 

Something felt off but you couldn’t put a finger on it. So you simply retold your excuse adding more details to the story this time. You checked the time over and over again, waiting for the effects of the poison to set in. You even drank from your own, hoping the detective would mirror your actions and drink some more as well.

After you finished telling him everything you could think of, Joshua started twirling the pen again as he read over the notes he had scribbled down. He hummed several times. 

You flinched when he dropped the pen, his hands suddenly cramping up. Both of you looked quite surprised, gazes following the pen that rolled over the floor. “Are you alright?” You asked, noticing Joshua didn’t try to get the pen. You carefully stood up and grabbed the pen, kneeling next to Joshua as you observed his face.

He tilted his head and closed his eyes, brows furrowing slightly while the smile on his lips turned into a tiny pout. Small pearls of sweat appeared on his forehead and temple. Joshua inhaled shakily and pulled at his tie, loosening it a little. 

You contemplated whether you should stay until the detective succumbed to the poison or you should leave and just let it be since you saw the effects already. Musing they gave you a slow spreading poison you decided to leave. “I think, I should go”, you murmured and placed the pen on the table as you stood up and walked to the coat rack.

You were about to open the door after you got your jacket, when a large hand slammed the door shut again. You jumped and turned around, seeing Joshua standing incredibly close to you. 

He panted heavily, eyes slightly hazy as he tried to focus on you. Joshua kept his hand against the door, basically trapping you between it and himself. “If you go now”, he breathed, “they will kill you.”

Your eyes widened in surprise and you stumbled backwards until your back hit the door. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, you laughed quietly, shaking your head and schooling your expression again to play the innocent client.

“I know who you are”, Joshua scoffed and shut his eyes shortly before he focused his intense gaze back on you, “angel of death.”

You froze, heart pounding within your chest. Your thoughts raced through your mind, trying to find some sort of explanation or wicked scheme to get out of this situation again. But it all came back to the question of how he could know. 

Nobody knew your face. Your targets were dead and couldn’t tell on you. They would be the only ones to see your face. Whenever you had a job you got messages via a special phone, which was stored inside a locker at the station. Same with special requirements, you always made sure whatever you had to take with you was dropped off at some spot where you picked it up after you made sure nobody was around. In conclusion there was no way Joshua could know who you were.

“Angel of death?” You tried hard to sound extremely surprised by the name. You stared at Joshua’s pale face, observing the tiniest reactions from him. “Isn’t that just a rumour some bored teenagers made up?”

Joshua groaned, his head dropping slightly. His breaths were laboured and you noticed his whole body shaking. “I swear to god.” Joshua growled lowly. “You’re done, Yoon Jeonghan.”

You piped up again, having heard that name before. He was a renowned broker in town. Jeonghan was a neutral person in the eyes of any evil within the area. Everyone knew he had shady business with basically all the clans and gangs but nobody could ever prove a thing. 

“What does he have to do with this?”

Joshua raised his head again, bleary eyes capturing your gaze. Before he could say anything though, he lost the strength in his legs.

You were quick to catch him, barely able to support his form. It almost felt like an impossible task to guide him back to one couch, dropping his limp body on the soft surface. You instinctively placed your hand on his sweaty forehead. “You’re burning up”, you mumbled and placed your jacket over his torso as an improvised blanket. 

You stood next to his shivering body, looking down on him in thought. Once again you thought about simply leaving and considering the job done but something about this man intrigued you. There swirled several questions around your head that needed to be answered by him.

As you got to a decision, Joshua grabbed your wrist and held you back. “Don’t leave”, he croaked out before he lost consciousness. His breaths were ragged and shallow while his body continued to tremble violently every other minute.

“I’ll come back soon”, you promised despite knowing he wouldn’t hear you anyway. With that you left the office to get to your apartment.

Since you worked with poisons you had a small kit to mix antidotes in case you would accidentally poison yourself. You wanted to get that kit as well as some instant food and return back to the office. The minute you had left Joshua alone you felt on edge and you wanted to change that as fast as possible.

About an hour later you got back to the detective’s office. You closed the door behind you silently and turned back to the couch. Though Joshua wasn’t on the couch anymore.

Panic spread through your whole system as you stepped closer, seeing your jacket on the ground. You even checked behind the couch but Joshua was nowhere to be seen. You placed the kit and instant food on the small coffee table and paced around the room. 

Once again your thoughts ran wild, thinking of all the possibilities that could unfold from this situation. “What if he got back up and called the police? He could create a phantom drawing of me. My existence would be…” You ran your hands through your hair, freaking out more and more. “Or maybe one of the gang members broke into the office and kidnapped him. They could try and make an example out of him. How should I get my answers then?”

As you were on the verge of desperation the bathroom door opened and a dripping wet detective stepped out of it, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. 

“We,” he spoke up, getting your attention, “as human beings have this tendency to imagine the worst case scenario when something doesn’t go the way we want or expect. But rather than dwelling on what could go wrong or turn worse instead gently guide your thoughts to something more positive. It could be something small, just something that makes you smile without fail. Life will always be filled with stressful moments but you can always choose to see something positive through it all. It will be okay.”

You stared at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, disbelief written all over your face. Several seconds passed before you laughed dryly and shook your head, still not believing what you just heard and what you were seeing at the moment. “You’re drenched”, you stated matter of factly.

Joshua shrugged with his shoulders, the soft smile that curled up the edges of his mouth back on his face again. “I had to cool down a bit.”

“Fully clothed?”

He shrugged with his shoulders again but raised one hand, motioning for you to wait. Joshua stepped back into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. A few minutes later he came out of the room again, wearing a bathrobe instead of his drenched clothes. He pushed his wet hair back and walked over to the couches, sitting down and staring up at you. “I assume you have some questions on your mind.”

You laughed mirthlessly. “‘Some’ is good.” Still you sat on the couch opposite of him again, eyes never leaving him. “What happened while I was gone?”

“I already told you that”, Joshua said and grinned in amusement. “I woke up, felt hot and had to cool down a bit.”

“And now you’re all better?”

He scrunched his nose momentarily and then shook his head. “I still feel a little numbness in my limbs and my head feels like I’m having a massive hangover.”

You blinked several times, feeling confused that the effect of the poison didn’t seem as bad as you thought. 

“You’re probably wondering why I’m still alive.”

“Besides some other things I’m wondering about too, yeah.” By now you had decided to drop the act. There was no use pretending to be someone else. You just had to decide whether you’d kill him after you got your answers to keep your identity safe or not.

“You always have to be prepared, be ahead of your opponent by a few steps.” Joshua leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I knew one of the criminal bosses would decide to eventually kill me and their best option was using the infamous shadow of the underworld, the angel of death. So I arranged a few things beforehand with some affiliates. One of them being Jeonghan, who swapped the deadly poison with something - according to him - harmless.”

“You knew from the beginning?” You asked, flabbergasted by the revelation you just heard. All your precautions and preparations had been useless. 

Joshua tilted his head from side to side. “Not knowing, no”, he said and tapped his lower lip, “I knew after I came back with the pen and wanted to drink some tea. Before that it was only a feeling. My instincts if you will.”

“Then why am I still here and not behind bars?” You leaned back on the couch, crossing your arms in front of your chest in a defensive manner. “Also why aren’t you worried about the fact I could throw the plan overboard and just kill you my way?”

“Because I have something to offer you.”

You raised an eyebrow, watching him sceptically. What good could a detective, loyal to the law, offer an assassin like yourself?

“I want you to work with me”, Joshua offered, “as my partner.”

You tried feigning disinterest, fearing accepting such an offer would be a mistake. Yet it sounded too good to be true. “Why?”

“Someone with your skills could give valuable input in a case and help solve it faster.” Joshua noticed your hesitation as well as the desire to simply accept. Once again he smiled softly and stretched one hand out towards you. “It will be okay”, he repeated his reassurance from earlier. “You’ll be okay. I promise. And if stress creeps up on you again-” his warm eyes lulled you further into his world “-just remember to breathe, take my hand and know you’re not alone in this. Not anymore.”

A small pout played over your lips as your gaze switched between his face and his hand. “If I just get the hint of something bad coming from you, I’ll end you.”

“You won’t.”

You sighed deeply and closed your eyes for a second. When you opened them again you locked eyes with him, searching one last time for any hint of deceit. As you found none you placed your hand in his, accepting his offer.

“Fine.”

© all rights reserved  

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland​ 

[zodiacemma]

accismus - prologue

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘫𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘹 𝘰𝘤

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳'𝘴 𝘰𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘦.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Marshall College, Connecticut 1935

It was after school hours when she was requested, and she preferred it that way. She made her way to the Curator’s office in her polished Oxford shoes, puffy white button-up, and academic brown pants. Dark hair tickled her shoulders as it brushed back and forth with her heavy stride.

The sun was lowering in the sky but not quite setting. Beams of golden light seeped through the many windows of the hallways. Rays of the sun were interrupted through the filter of luscious leaves, the many trees planted around the campus. What light that made it through the hundreds of fresh green leaves dappled her bronze face. Her deep brown eyes shone their golden flecks as the sun’s light reflected off them.

The sun disappeared as she made a sharp corner leading to a small one-way hallway with a door at the end. Although not labeled, it was the office of the Curator of the National Museum’s Marshall College Branch. Behind the door was the man that called for her presence five minutes ago.

It was all extremely fortunate timing, really. Most days, she stayed late in her office, but today she had other plans. Having plans to treat herself at the nearby family-owned restaurant, she convinced herself to push her work aside and leave early for the day. Just as she located her keys, a small tap was heard at the door. Deciding to look into it briefly instead of just assuming it was the wind or some other arbitrary action of the outside world, a small note was taped to her door. Hastily written, it asked for her to be at the dean’s office as soon as possible.

So all plans were off the table. Great. She ruffled her hair and straightened her pants before realizing they were pants, not a skirt or dress. Wanting to get over the embarrassment, she knocked on the door with one knuckle.

“Come in!” The British man’s voice was muffled through the wooden door.

The woman pushed down on the handle and swung the door open slowly, revealing a pristine desk and messy shelf full of various antiquities men like the Curator would jokingly call knickknacks.

She consciously closed the door as if something would break if it was allowed to close on its own.

“Hello, Dr. Brody,” she greeted. The door clicked close behind her.

“Please,” the man said, getting up from his seat, “call me Marcus.”

She nodded, sticking her hand out to shake. “Okay then, Marcus.”

Marcus let go of the woman’s hand and returned to his seat.

“Please, take a seat.” He gestured to the available seat across from him. Being the only open seat in the office, she took it.

She straightened her back as she began talking. “So, what brings me here?” she asked.

Marcus grinned ever so lightly. He clasped his hands together as though about to pray and set them down on the desk.

“How expansive is your knowledge of Ancient Greece?” he asked casually.

“How ancient are we talking here?” Her accent was slowly seeping through, even if she didn’t notice.

“Towards the end. The three hundreds,” he clarified.

She pushed for a moment. “More than I’d care to admit. Why do you ask?”

Marcus leaned in. “You see, Alexander the Great held many riches in his possession while he was alive. One of those things was a large gold statue in the form of a peacock.”

“A sign of Hera,” she cut in. “Perhaps as a plea to land him a good wife. He did, after all, have issues finding a stable partner during his ruling. His last wife only lasted him a year before he died.” She looked up at Marcus. “Oh! I do apologize for my ramblings.”

“It’s quite alright,” he assured. “Taking into account everything Alexander owned and its purpose is truly a great way to keep one’s mind busy. Of course I’m getting off track, too.” Marcus adjusted his posture before continuing. “When Alexander the Great died, many, if not all, of his possessions were destroyed. Including the peacock statue. Of course, if anything was found to be of value, it was taken before it could be destroyed.”

Her eyes widened. “You mean…?”

Marcus nodded. “The eyes of the peacock were two large diamonds believed to be around one-hundred and forty carats each,” he emphasized. As he told the story, he began gesturing along.

“One of them was sold off to an Indian emperor, correct?” she asked.

“Yes, it was,” he confirmed. “And from there it was split up into smaller sized diamonds and shared to others. The other, though—”

“It hasn’t been seen since. Someone stole it and that’s the last of what we know,” she interrupted.

“You would be correct,” Marcus said. “Until now.”

She stayed silent and utterly still in her seat. This allowed Marcus to continue.

“We have recently received information as to its possible whereabouts,” he explained.

“That’s impossible,” she said. “The Peacock’s Eye has been found?”

“We believe so,” he said. “And we think it’s in the South Pacific island of Fiji.”

Her mouth hung open for a full minute. Stunned silence hung high up in the air.

“Mis Dios, what’s it doing all the way over there?” she asked, completely baffled.

“You’re asking me like I have all the answers,” Marcus chuckled out. “We’re not entirely sure what it’s doing in Fiji but all we know is that it’s been sighted there.”

The two sat in silence once again. The woman leaned back in her chair, trying to process the information given to her. The Peacock’s Eye was nothing more than legend. People weren’t even sure if it actually existed in the first place. It was often deemed a myth, nothing more than a fictional story about a historical figure. And now there was confirmation of this thing’s existence?

“Wait a minute,” she realized out loud, “you want me to go get the damn thing, don’t you?”

Her hands were splayed across the desk, palms flat. She leaned in as much as she could without fearing breaking the desk.

“You know, that’s one thing I like about you,” Marcus said, leaning in to tighten the space between them. “You understand what it is I’m asking of you. I can’t tell you how many people and how many times my demands weren’t understood until I spelled it out in front of them like they were back in bloody kindergarten!”

The woman laughed. “If this is your way of buttering me up to send me off onto the next flight to Fiji, you have another thing comin’ to you, I’m afraid!”

“Oh really?” Marcus challenged. “Five thousand is the minimum the museum is offering.”

She gripped the desk in shock. “The minimum?” she whispered.

“Yes, the minimum,” he repeated. “So get packing because your flight leaves at twelve-thirty on the dot.”

Her brows furrowed for a brief second. “The flight would be fourteen and a half hours, and taking into account the seventeen-hour time zone difference…” she mumbled loudly to herself. “…I would be arriving in Fiji by seven that evening, allowing me time to adjust to the hours lost.”

Marcus nodded. “So, like I said, you better go home and pack right away!”

“Yes, yes,” she agreed. She got up from her chair and made her way to the door. “Anything else I should know before leaving?”

Marcus didn’t answer right away. She slowly looked over at the older man, who held a regretful expression. His wrinkles curled up in a bashful manner as he tried playing off the potential severity of the information accidentally withheld.

“Marcus,” she said slowly and sternly, as though reprimanding a small child.

“Um, well,” he fumbled out, rubbing the back of his neck in shame, “there may be a group on the hunt for the eye as well.”

The woman sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of course you tell me this now.”

“At least we know who the group is!” he exclaimed, attempting to remedy the situation.

She looked at Marcus with a half-lidded, unamused look. “And that group is?”

Marcus could be heard scrambling in his various desk drawers, looking for his needed notes. With every drawer opening soon followed a thunk of a drawer closing. After sharp sounds of papers shuffling filled everyone’s ears, a small gasp came out of Marcus as he found what he was looking for.

“The group’s leader is Lao Che,” he said. “He’s a top crime lord with limited but powerful connections. It’s said that he works in close operation with his three sons.”

“Okay,” she trailed off. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Good then!” Marcus said. “Then this mission should be of no trouble to you!”

She grimaced at his response. “Whatever you say.” Marcus grabbed ahold of her hand as the two shook them once again.

“I can’t thank you enough, Doctor—”

“Please,” she quickly interrupted, “if your wish for me is to call you Marcus, then it is my wish for you to call me Silvia.”

He held a tight-lipped grin as he bit back his tongue. “Alright then, Silvia. I wish you nothing but good luck on your journey.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━���━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐦𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐨𝐬 🇱‌🇦‌🇳‌🇬‌🇺‌🇦‌🇬‌🇪‌: 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘴𝘩 🇱‌🇮‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇦‌🇱‌: 𝘮𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘥 🇪‌🇶‌🇺‌🇮‌🇻‌🇦‌🇱‌🇪‌🇳‌🇹‌: (𝘰𝘩) 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘥

[frimleyblogger]

Lost Word Of The Day (65)

Accismus - a feigned look of indifference #lostwords #obscurewords #logophilia

It never does to look too eager for something, just hang back, display a feigned lack of interest or perhaps even effect a coy refusal. Such behaviour is a display of accismus, a noun derived from the Greek akkismos, coyness or affectation, prudery, via the Latin accismus. Of course, too convincing a display of accismus means that you walk away without getting what you really want. A dangerous…

[tmzoostlxkgr8f]

Ok sats the pusst A XXX Audition Chinese teen has multiple orgasms and a creampie Busty Ts Casey Kisses gets facialed after hard anal banging Massage Rooms Big booty tattooed Uzbek babe Akasha Coliun covered in oil Nacho Vidal fucks Jayden Lee Hot Milfs Fuck - Mighty Magic Wand Play For Porn First-Timer Jessie James! Casero No Aguanta Sentones AFRO GILF STILL GOT IT Teen Titans Go: Jinx Anal Fucking Sex Loop

[yumedoca]

Hi, I've seen your colour palette post and I just wanted to say that Accismus and Dearest instantly reminded me of Edogawa Conan. All of those palettes are so nice to look at, I love them! (For some reason I fell in love with Prep, it's so soothing and whimsy and joyful!)

Hai there, hope you're doing great!!

Aww, thanks Anna!! That's so sweet of you! It makes me very happy to hear that you liked my palette collection!! ♥

And in return, have Conan in 'Dearest'!!

(Color palettes here! - Requests closed!!)

[thedreamlessnights]

okay so - accismus readers! my english class is finally over and accismus is very much still on the way. there are only a few chapters left and i’m making significant progress so keep an eye out for new chapters!

i appreciate your patience sm ❤️ can’t wait for you all to see the rest of this story

[celamoon]

me after writing the most heart-wrenching, heart-fluttering royal au confession possible

[peachipeachy]

cool with you ☆彡 - ch. 01

(gojo satoru x fem!cupid!reader) based on the "cool with you" m/v by new jeans.

warnings: bow and arrows, slight mention of toxic relationships, use of (y/n), heavy denial of the reader being in love lolol, high school era gojo.

word count; approx. 1.5k

previous part here!

masterlist

-----

act i; accismus.

n. a form of irony in which a person feigns indifference to or pretends to refuse something he or she desires.

(where a cupid refuses to acknowledge her growing affection for the earth's strongest sorcerer.)

"the job of a cupid is a sacrifice. you are their rose-tinted glasses."

january, 2006.

three students sit underneath a large tree, using its size to protect themselves from the cool, winter wind. two boisterous boys, animatedly arguing, and a girl who couldn't care less.

"who gives a crap if you lost one pair of sunglasses?" geto suguru, the boy with long, dark hair and a cold glare says, "you have extras anyways,"

"it's not the same, suguru!" the snow-haired boy - gojo satoru - retorts, cheeks puffed and lips pouted, "those were my favourite pair!"

the bored girl, ieiri shoko huffs, removing satoru's glasses from her face.

"how did you even lose them anyways?" she asks, handing the pair back to its owner.

"i don't know! i took them off for one second, then the next thing i know is they're gone!" satoru whines.

lies. satoru gojo was lying off his ass here. in reality, he had taken them off to admire the various taiyaki he had bought. after reading about this exclusive pop-up store in shibuya from a magazine, the second-year student couldn't help but become giddy at the thought of tasting these so-called "heaven-sent taiyaki". and thus, amid his excitement, hadn't realised he had knocked his own glasses to the floor, only to be passed through kyoto's foot traffic and miles away from its owner.

placing the new glasses back onto his nose, satoru huffs.

"look, maybe you can retrace your steps tomorrow?" suguru offered, noting his friend's low mood on the topic, "it could still be there, or maybe some model citizen handed it to some nearby shops?"

"i guess..."

-------

despite being on good terms with each one of the cupids here, (y/n) still felt nervous. maybe it was because all of them were the ten high-rank cupids - the best of the best. and here she was, barely 16 years old but skilled enough for all of them to take notice of her. honestly, being that she was trained by the higher cupid, kalila, she wasn't that surprised that they called for her, her dedication to her job can attest to that. but still, (y/n) was nervous.

"what we are trying to say is simple, honey," haerin, the higher cupid on her left spoke, "we find that you're skills are advancing impressively, maybe in a few more years we could have an eleventh higher cupid at this table," despite haerin's sweet smile, (y/n) couldn't help but scoff internally. the job of a cupid is barely work. simply put, all they had to do was detect the romantic quickly and then act fast enough to initiate it before the moment passed. plus, it wasn't like the bonds she initiated were important. soulmate bonds - a human's final romantic bond is carried out by the higher cupids. the job of a cupid is simply a game of glorified snap.

contrary to how she felt, (y/n) smiled, bowing her head and thanking haerin for the compliment.

another higher cupid, alexei, moved to speak, "as well as that, (y/n) has had no issue with any distractions. its refreshing to see a cupid so young and so dedicated to her job," alexei spoke with a frown, his voice deep and intimidating, "we've seen too many of you fall victim to human love,"

(y/n) stiffened, suddenly extremely aware of the black-tinted sunglasses sitting at the bottom of her satchel as memories of a familiar pair of blue eyes played in her head. She had heard the stories of her peers - young cupids who become infatuated with human love, initiating romantic bonds between any humans passing by - not caring if they were compatible or not. no, these foolish cupids were simply obsessed with watching the spark of love over and over and over again, leaving harmful, rushed and dangerous relationships in their wake. and she was not like them at all. she was different; better. and the sunglasses at the bottom of her bag meant nothing to her...right?

-------

lost deep in her thoughts, the meeting flew passed, ending quickly. and the next thing (y/n) knew, she was back on earth. by herself. once again.

it was ironic, really. despite being messengers of love, a cupid's job is incredibly lonesome.

cupids rarely ever interact with one another, nor do they have any way to contact each other. that privilege is exclusively for the higher cupids only and is generally used to alert a lower cupid of a soulmate bond they are responsible for.

atop a building rooftop and soaking wet in the winter rain, (y/n) surveyed the moving crowds by shibuya station. sure, it was a bit more difficult detecting bonds through raindrops and herds of different coloured umbrellas but (y/n) is nothing short of a prodigy, and wasn't going to let water and a couple of thin, plastic barriers stop her.

bingo.

she felt it again, the beginning spark of a romantic bond. one red umbrella walking towards a yellow one. like clockwork, (y/n) took her stance, raising her hands as her trusty bow and one arrow materialised.

just as she's about to release the arrow, (y/n) feels her heart stop. a familiar mop of stark white hair stole her focus, and through the sea of umbrellas and raincoats, she noticed his eyes - bare, with no black-tinted barrier between them. now! she could give back his glasses now!

however, her dominant arm wobbled, and she suddenly remembered where she was. on a rooftop. with her bow and arrow. staring at red and yellow umbrellas. shit.

quick as a fox, her eyes tracked the red umbrella, letting the arrow fly as soon as she found it. and she did...seconds after it had passed the yellow umbrella. time stood still around her as she watched the red umbrella miraculously turn back around to face the yellow one.

"thank god," she whispered under her breath, that was too close of a call. she was almost distracted.

her arms fell back to her sides, brushing against the soft material of her satchel. oh right! his glasses! (y/n) rushed onto her feet, fingers digging through her bag. she will give back his glasses today...not because she wants to see him or anything! it was just the right thing to do. at least that's what she hoped.

-------

gojo satoru has a sweet tooth. even through wind, sun, heat and in this case, a rainstorm, he would never give up his daily sweet treat. so that's how he found himself outside a cafe on a rainy january afternoon, just a minute's walk from kyoto station, waiting for suguru to meet up with him. well, that and his unsuccessful search for his favourite sunglasses.

eyes shut, he held his flip phone up to his ear, "yes, suguru, i already asked if they had them,"

"and what did they say?" suguru's voice rang through the phone.

"they said no, and then i ordered some cheesecake to go," satoru replied, ignoring the way suguru groaned in response, "any luck on your end?"

"no," suguru replied, "maybe check around you, they could've ended up anywhere,"

"i doubt--"

his words died in his throat as a familiar presence entered his atmosphere. that girl. It has to be. his eyes flew open, darting around to find her.

nothing.

curious, satoru stood straighter, ready to start searching. he still felt her so she couldn't have gone far. before he could even take a few steps, a sudden rush of wind blew past him, almost knocking him off his feet. what the hell?

"hey! satoru! are you even listening to me?" suguru's distorted voice snapped him out of his confusion.

"yeah, yeah, what did you say?" he replied, half paying attention. he couldn't sense that girl anymore.

another sigh left suguru, "i said, i'm almost there, and that you should look around for your glasses if you're so determined to find this damn pair,"

satoru frowned, annoyed by the loss of both his glasses and that girl, "nah, i think i'll just wait for you," he took a step back, searching his surroundings before suddenly tripping over something.

frustrated, he turned to look at what it was - an arrow. sticking out of the ground. centimetres away from where he stood.

sure, being almost shot by an arrow was strange, but honestly, that was hardly the most confusing part about this. what stole his attention was the pair of sunglasses hanging from it. more specifically, his most cherished and most certainly lost pair of sunglasses attached to the arrow.

"what the hell...?" he muttered into the phone, bending down to pick up the arrow. it felt light, too light - like it could disappear at any moment.

"what? what happened?"

"nothing-- just get here as fast as you can, okay?" not waiting for a response, satoru hung up, inspecting his found glasses. did that girl have something to do with this?

-------

little did satoru know, that squeezed behind the trunk of a large tree stood a cupid, heart racing and missing one more arrow from her quiver.

a/n; hi!!!!!! okay so honestly im just throwing caution into the wind and writing this lol. thank you for reading this far and i hope you enjoyed it!

[honeycombclaire]

Hi guys, it’s been a while. Here’s a new fic.

Accismus

/ækˈsizməs/

noun

1. when one feigns disinterest or indifference for something they desire

2. a form of irony

Example: Dick buys two birthday cards for Damian. One starts with “For my son,” and the other says “To a cool guy.” Dick gives Damian the latter, and keeps the former locked away. He doesn’t need to make this into something it’s not.

Or, Dick is tasked with raising Damian in the wake of Bruce’s death. This is the fallout of their separation upon Bruce’s sudden and unexpected return.

[mochaintherain]

Accismus

Summary: You're a treasure hoarder who's stolen the most precious thing in Inazuma: the crown prince, Scaramouche. (GN! Reader)

Word Count: 2.4k

CW: VIOLENCE!!!!! Mutual violence, but like. there's undertones. idk. Reader isn't a good person, Criminal Reader, Antagonist reader, unestablished relationship, a little toxic (given the circumstances), blood, Royalty AU, (Scaramouche whoops your ass.)

A/N: Formatted on Mobile ♡. Sorry I've been away! This was originally meant to be for a larger story but my ass Did NOT finish it so I'm just going to post this lolz...plus, with Fontaine, there is so much potential ( ☆∀☆) BUT FINALLY SCARA FIC! posted at. 3 in the morning :')

Silver to gold.

The raven insignia colored like the brilliant sun would finally, finally, be yours to claim—tangible, indisputable proof of your convictions, ambitions, and desires. If the gods gifted conduits to those they considered worthy, then this coin was more than divine acknowledgment.

This insignia was your Vision, bestowed by fellow mortals.

Because today, you have captured a trophy.

Prince Scaramouche glowered in the chair he was untenderly pinioned to, indigo eyes never once breaking from your figure. He hadn't spoken once since his fateful acquisition, instead redirecting what would usually be a flurry of insults into a piercing gaze, sharp enough to cut flesh.

His yukata—the layers of purple and red silks, once draping his form in nobility, status, royalty—laid disheveled across the ground. The only things remaining before his abduction were the dark juban slipping over his body, along with the necklace made of black and red string, harboring a single, golden feather. The man in front of you, now a mere ghost of what he used to be.

You nodded to your men as they finished the last knots on his wrists, nodding to you, before departing the tent. He tugged at the restraints, grimacing.

"Wipe that damn smile off your lips," he sneered, red eyeliner melting in the crinkles of porcelain skin.

"Oh? So he finally speaks. Hello, your Highness—" you bowed lightly, though in no part due to deference—"how did you know? Was my excitement truly that obvious?"

"Tch. Not even that rag you call a mask can hide your ugly face."

"...wow." A soft laugh bubbled from your throat, and the corners of your lips twitched—up close, he couldn't escape scrutiny. The rumors were entirely true.

His infamous, hot-headed temperament juxtaposed his delicate features.

Even through anger, he was beautiful.

"Get away from me, worm," he jeered, narrowing his gaze.

"I suggest you mind your manners," you chastised, closing the distance between the two of you, much to his dismay, "you have no authority here, and your mother isn't here to protect you. So know your place, Prince." You spat the last syllable, honeyed in vitriol. The feather accessory almost crumbled in your grip as you jerked it forward, ripping a strangled gasp from the man.

"Here, you're as insignificant as the rest of us, got it? Your blood is just as red as mine when spilled."

With your thumb and forefinger, you pulled a little more, the strings protesting by digging themselves into the skin of his neck.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Scaramouche wheezed out, his head craning forward, coughs and laughs mixing into raspy drawls, "please. One blemish on me and your head will be on a pike."

"Hah." Your free hand trailed up the plush of his cheek, fingers resting on the crease of his eye.

"Get your filthy hands off—"

"If that were really the case, if you were so precious—" you smeared the pristine makeup onto his temple, and Scaramouche let out a guttural hiss, "—it wouldn't have been so easy to pluck you out Tenshukaku."

"You—!"

And the necklace snapped.

At that instant, his body tensed and his face contorted into a snarl, teeth ready to snap at your limbs. What little poise he managed to conjure for this ordeal dissipated in a matter of seconds.

How amusing.

"You have no idea what you've just done."

"Why so riled up? I'm sure your mother will get you a new one, you spoiled heir," you hummed, stepping away before his teeth could find your arms, "of course, unless the rumors are true?"

Infuriation overtook his indigo eyes, along with a flicker of hurt…or pain?

"Enough," he barked, "one more word and I'll rip your tongue out myself." The remark appeared almost funny, the way his shoulders shook like a petulant child.

If only you saw past the hilarity, and caught the screech of nail to cotton fiber.

"Tell me," you continued your taunt, waving the feather haphazardly in the air. At that moment, he was more hilichurlian than prince, "is it true you’re nothing more than a prince in name? How much of a brat are you, to be denied your birthright on the throne?"

"You'll regret that," Scaramouche seethed, "do you know who I am? Do you know who you're dealing with?" Every passing word accompanied another shake of his arms. "I'll have you beg for mercy."

"I think you're overestimating yourself," you said, rolling your eyes. "I don't think someone who fell victim to treasure hoarders, of all groups, has any—"

"You talk too much."

A small, misplaced half-smile spread across his countenance as the rope fell behind the chair with a soft thud.

The rope tethering him in place.

The rope with red-tinged ends, allowing him an opportunity to lunge.

You narrowly barreled out the way, too busy swallowing down shock.

“Give that back!” Scaramouche hissed, “that’s mine!”

You clenched the aureate pinion in your fist, ramming your elbow into his side.

“Tch!”

He staggered back, glaring you down. Moonlight peeked from the tent’s entrance, and illuminated his back in a way that made him seem almost holy.

But surely, no angel would be stupid enough to stay where their wings would be clipped. His aggression outweighed his rationality, you deduced, as instead of fleeing, weak sparks of electro spat from his bloodied fingertips.

“Huh. You sawed through your bindings using nothing but your bare hands and energy. That’s kind of impressive.”

“That’s mine,” he repeated, “that’s mine.”

“Is it now? I don’t see your name on it.”

Now on adjacent sides of the tent, the two of you locked into a waltz of frenzied attacks and defenses.

Despite not having a sword, the eventual successor of the Musou no Hitotachi fought as if he embodied the blade. Nimble fists like the wind, he slashed at your frame. He moved with deadly, facile, precision, adorning your skin in small, blooming bruises. Your only saving grace to avoid anything greater was your own adeptness to combat. Each swipe was blockaded by a feint on your end, each kick met with a parry, two adversaries encompassing the other in a cramped space, both sparring for purchase in a hopeless impasse. Static blanketed the air as the assault droned on.

This unnecessary long-winded fight could end the moment your men came to your aid. Is that why he guarded the entrance so fervently?

“You know, one scream from me and you’re done for,” you quipped.

“Hah. I’m not that weak.”

You bit your tongue to avoid spilling out the thought that, no, he wasn’t, and you respected his strength.

“There’s fifteen of us and one of you. Don’t be an idiot, now,” you said, laughing softly, taking a step forward, “we overpowered you once, and—oh, history has a habit of repeating itself.”

His brows furrowed, and he glared at you. “Do it then. I don’t care,” he sneered, a sardonic smile threatening to overtake his face, “I’m sure you’ll sound lovely.” The prince matched your footwork; he was hellbent on taking you down.

You knew that if he was afforded any advantage, you'd succumb.

So began the reprise.

Each hit on your forearms, each returned in equal fervor, each swerve you employed to avoid his kicks, your lungs heaved with short-lived air, the deadlock turning evermore in his favor.

As the dance raged on, your composure waned. Imbalance. Sloppiness. Exponentially labored breaths—in, out, in...in, in, in....

“Hehe. Surely you can do better than that, thief.”

This wasn't just a difference in ability. No, how could someone not grow weary after this long? Scaramouche maintained an imperious grin on his face, never once faltering. It was as if he was inhumane.

Maybe this was the effect of royal blood.

Another stumble meant another loss, another small victory awarded to your enemy...

"Why are you even here? Just give up," he spat, aiming a particularly strong punch to your ribs.

Was he getting faster, or were you slowing down?

You saw it coming. You watched how his painted nails—crimson, bloody—clenched together, how sadism bled into his smile, how it traversed through the air...

It was most certainly the latter.

Air knocked from your system, it was your turn to stagger.

"You're weaker than I thought. How pathetic," he said flatly, shaking his hand off, "how disappointing."

You couldn't breathe. Every attempt to reach for air ended in sharp pains and the dispelling of oxygen in your lungs. That damned rag. There was no point in trying to hide your identity at this point. Already too deep in, the crime too far gone…

You clawed the mask off your face, glaring at your opponent.

"You're the one that talks too much," you gasped out between shuddering breaths, your lips contorted into a twisted grimace.

Amidst your blurring vision and preoccupation with beating the man in front of you into submission, you weren't privy to the shift in his visage.

How his eyes widened, taking in every one of your features.

Disbelief casted onto his expression.

Awe.

That too, unfortunately, left him unguarded.

Scaramouche, for all his capabilities, likely lost the battle when your mask fell, and he caught a glimpse of your true face.

Your desperation drew an epiphany; you didn't want to kill him, but you had to fight back. But what if it killed him? What good was a sale if you had no product? Worthless. But what good was a ransom if no one could sell?

Fuck. It didn’t matter. You were a treasure hoarder. A thief. Bound to scrounge Teyvat for leftovers.

And this Prince, right in front of you?

His life was a prize, and you've always had a propensity for stealing.

That was your ambition. Your talent. Your worth.

You were not going to let that gold insignia slip from your grasp.

Not that easily.

Your fingers ghosted your sash. The miniscule glass buzzed with elemental energy.

“I’ll give you one chance, prince,” you murmured. “Stop this ceaseless fight or else.”

“No,” came his immediate response, eyes flickering from your face to your fist, “I’d be a fool to give up when I’m winning.”

“Then stop while you’re ahead,” you snapped sweetly.

With only another laugh escaping his lips, he suddenly burst forward once more. You squeezed your eyes shut, his form like a bullet in your path.

His skillful fighting captivated your senses, yet you had to resort to playing dirty.

As he drew closer, close enough to touch, he took you off your feet, and you grappled at his robes. The feather fell to the wayside, and the prince jerked his head to follow its descent.

Squeezing the pyro potion with your free hand, you could not keep down your thoughts this time.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

The bottle effortlessly smashed against the small of his hip, the unleashed fire focusing its fury on his defenseless muscles.

You winced, the crackle in the air running up your exposed skin in droves. Pyro and the Electro within him swirled and exploded in tandem.

Scaramouche gasped, breath hitching, shoving you away as he convulsed onto the dirt, sudden twitches of protesting muscles exacerbating his agony. His skin stained with sweat—waves of fire rolled over each pore—and shards embedded into his now bloodstained robes—all while folded on his knees--a pitiful display.

You rose on shaky legs, picking the gold ornament back into your palm. At the very least, you could sell this. His carcass would easily hide underneath the sands of Nazuchi beach.

…

…

…

No.

No, something was wrong.

“How…how are you still conscious?”

Although he was clearly affected, and you witnessed his body overloading, the way his head snapped in your direction, and managed an irate expression, devoid of obvious pain that was there mere seconds ago—fascination erupted inside your chest.

“That’s….that’s mine. Give it back!” The demand lacked the vitriol you expected. Instead, it was coated in a breathy plea. “Please! My...my heart...”

“I…” you were at a loss for words. “T-this?” You opened your hand, and his arm—like an instinct awakened within him—darted out to wrench it from your grasp. But, without the support, his body weight lost to gravity.

“Agh-!” He fell, wincing but his arm never went down. “Anything…anything, but that feather.”

Moonlight flooded in as you stared down at your handiwork. And your subordinates, who carried in the odor of sake, who finally noticed that you hadn’t joined in on their hasty celebrations, ran to pin Scaramouche, yanking his arms behind his back, with metal cuffs this time.

“Boss! Are you okay?”

You only hummed at their concern.

"I don't need attention. Our prize does."

Scaramouche, in his hazed state, did not register the moniker. His body forced into rigidness, exhaustion eating at his strength, he only groaned.

Ambling toward the crumpled man, you kneeled, ignoring how the dull ache of your ribs made itself known. Your men, perplexed, slowly backed away, giving you and him some space. He sighed softly as you pulled him into your lap, knees a pillow for his weary head. Taking his face in your hands, you inspected his pulse.

Nothing. Perhaps it was too weak, or too erratic, and yet he continued breathing; clearly alive. How? You wondered. Expected from someone who came from the Raiden herself. Brushing a stray hair sticking to his face, you smiled down at him. What a precious thing he was.

His pupils dilated at your touch, a shudder ravaging through his body. It ached.

"I'm glad you survived. It would have been a shame," you hummed, engulfing him in your gaze. “Out of everyone I’ve come across, you’re the most interesting.”

“You'll pay for this," he choked out, squeezing his eyes shut as he clenched his teeth. His words hardly stung. They held no edge.

"Perhaps," you whispered, parting his fist to place the feather into his grasp. "But for now, I win. I dont need this anymore, since I have you."

"You-"

"Hey, has anyone ever told you?"

"H-huh?" Scaramouche coughed again, too weak to do anything but softly huff.

You began to carefully unwrap his juban away.

"What do you think you're—" the Prince gasped, but was silenced with a finger to his lips.

The robe now discarded, you examined the blood painting over his complexion, the glass a mosaic on his figure.

"My Lord, you really do look beautiful in red."

You carefully started removing the shards out of his figure. His blood stained your skin. But he didn't squirm.

Instead, he whispered a promise under his breath, only for his ears.

"When I get my hands on you, and I win..." Scaramouche muttered, clutching his feather in his palm.

"I'm sure you will too."

.

[tastefulstars]

                              mobile masterlist

currently writing for Stranger Things

my writing tag

      Stranger Things

Steve & Eddie:

It’s Better With Three 18+

Love Me Deep 18+

Steve has a Bad Day

Fever 18+

The Boys Next Door / part 2 / part 3 / snippets / 18+

Of Wolf and Man /  part 2 /  part 3 /

Wanted U 18+

accismus (social media au)

short imagines

Eddie:

Pretty Girl 18+ Smells Like A Freakshow 18+ Kiss the Stars

short imagines

Steve:

First Class 18+

He’s With The Band 18+

short imagines

Billy:

Keep Me Close 18+

You and Me

(If this ain’t love) 18+

Steve & Eddie & Billy:

Get in Line / part 2 / 18+

Higher and Higher 18+

short imagines

Hopper

Gimme Love 18+

                Creature Features

Series:

The Colder the Night, The Warmer your Hands: prologue / one / two / three / four / five

Sea of Flames: one / two 18+

Short Stories:

Monstertober

The Hunt 18+

The Summoning 18+

Bite 18+

[arecaceae175]

anhidrosis

The absence of perspiration

"Cacophony," Legend said.

"Harsh mixture of sounds," Four said.

"Serendipity," Warriors said.

"Finding something valuable or interesting when you aren't looking for it," Four said. "These are easy," he added with a smirk.

"Verisimilitude," Legend said.

"Something that seems to be true but isn't," Four said.

"Anhidrosis!" Wild said. "Flora said that once."

Four paused, frowning in concentration. Legend and Warriors both started to grin.

"Absence of perspiration," Four said.

Warriors and Legend groaned.

"Is there anything you don't know?" Legend asked.

"Nope," Four said with a shit-eating grin.

"What's the weirdest word you know?" Wild asked.

"Hmm... first one coming to mind is accismus," Four said. He glanced around to see if anyone knew it, but he was met with blank faces. He grinned.

"Irony in which someone feigns indifference to something they desire," Four said. Legend groaned loudly and flopped backwards off the log he was sitting on.

Warriors sighed. "I accept my defeat."

[weisscoldglare]

ACCISMUS

Go read it

[broodwolf221]

prompts based on unusual or rare words

send the word and a character/relationship (romantic, familial, platonic, adversarial, etc.) and i'll write something based around it! (feel free to use/rb/etc)

accismus - feigning disinterest in something while actually desiring it

aestivate - to spend the summer in a state of torpor or dormancy

agathism - the belief in the ultimate triumph of good over evil

agelast - a person who never laughs

anemoia - nostalgia for a time you’ve never known

apatheia - freedom or release from emotion or excitement

apotheosis - the highest point or peak, often used to describe the pinnacle of achievement or greatness

apricity - the warmth of the sun in winter

apricate - to bask in the sun

aureate - something that is golden, shining, or brilliant

bêtise - an act of foolishness or stupidity

cacography - bad handwriting

chrysalism - the peaceful feeling that comes from being indoors during a thunderstorm

clinomania - an excessive desire to stay in bed or a reluctance to get out of bed

efflorescence - a blooming or flowering, often used to describe a period of creativity or prosperity.

eleutheromania - an intense desire for freedom or liberation

ephemeral - something that is fleeting or short-lived, often used to describe a moment or feeling

eunoia - beautiful thinking or a well-disposed mind

galvanize - to arouse to awareness or action

hypnagogic - relating to the state of drowsiness or transition to sleep, often used to describe the strange, dreamlike experiences that can happen during this time

insouciant - casually or smugly indifferent; nonchalant

irenic - promoting peace or reconciliation, often used to describe a peaceful personality or a peaceful solution to conflict

limerence - the state of being infatuated or obsessed with someone or something

makebate - one that excites contention and quarrels

matrisate - to imitate one's mother

metanoia - a fundamental change in one's beliefs

nihilarian - a person who deals with things lacking in substance or meaning, often in a philosophical sense

noctivagant - going about in the night; night-wandering

nubivagant - wandering in the clouds, often used to describe a dreamer or someone lost in thought

numinous - something that is spiritual, mysterious, or awe-inspiring

obfuscate - to muddle; confuse; bewilder

patrizate - to imitate one's father or forebears

pernicious - causing great harm; destructive

perspicacious - having keen judgement or understanding; acutely perceptive

pessimum - the least favorable environmental condition under which an organism can survive

philostorgie - the love of parent's towards their children

pot-valor - boldness or courage resulting from alcoholic drink

prevaricate - to behave in an evasive or indecisive manner, usually in delay

recogitate - to think over again

redame - to love in return

saudade - an emotional state of melancholic or profoundly nostalgic longing for a beloved yet absent something or someone

scintilla - a spark or tiny amount of something, often used to describe a small flash of inspiration

scripturient- having a strong urge to write

sehnsucht - yearning; wistful longing

selcouth - describes something that is unfamiliar, strange, and yet marvelous at the same time

sempiternal - something that is eternal or everlasting

solivagrant - rambling alone; marked by solitary wandering

supernal - something that is heavenly or divine

timorous - full of or subject to fear; timid

velleity - a mere wish or inclination that lacks the motivation or intention to act on it

verisimilitude - the appearance of being true or real

[racfoam]

I actually do have a story with Fem! Harry raising Delphi (Voldemort Wins AU, Voldemort literally tells Harry this is what she'll do or he’ll kill her friends, nice way to get a permanent babysitter, Voldy) but my headcanon is that Voldemort had no idea about Delphini and that Bellatrix stole his blood and Delphini was made with magic.

Canon Voldemort was too busy obsessing over Harry and wanting to have Harry, sorry, lads.

The fic is titled accismus

First line

The last thing Harry thought she would be doing at seventeen was changing the nappy of the Dark Lord’s seven-month-old daughter.

Harry meeting Delphi

Big, reddish, dark eyes blinked up at Harry. The baby was bigger than a newborn infant. By its gaze focused on Harry, the Chosen One assumed the baby was one year old, give or take. The delicate dark eyebrows drew together, the baby-fat cheeks scrunching, the lips drawing in a thin line. Cute, Harry thought, fondness flooding her chest.  “Whose are you? Who left you here alone?” Harry knows very much how that was like. Being cast aside somewhere lonely, left with no comforting adult supervision. A grunt passed Harry's lips as she put her hands under the baby’s arms, “Whoa, you’re heavy.” Or maybe I’m too light. It took a bit of awkward maneuvering for Harry to manage to hold the baby with both arms properly without it looking like the child was dangling off her hands like a monkey. While maneuvering her hands like an idiot who’s never held a baby in her life, Harry ascertained the baby was most definitely a girl. Voldemort entered the room. At the sight of his serpentine face and red eyes, the baby girl squealed happily, squirming in Harry's hold, reaching her tiny arms toward the Dark Lord like he was her favourite person in the world.

Harry was baffled. Suspicious, she held the baby out, toward Voldemort. The baby girl squealed happily, laughing, making grabby hands toward Voldemort. Harry brought her back to her chest, and the girl's smile dropped, face absolutely blank again, turning completely still. Harry looked from the baby to Voldemort. Baby to Voldemort. Then back again one final time. The baby gurgled happily again when Harry extended her to the serpentine wizard again like Rafiki did with Simba in Lion King. The baby extended her short arms, reaching for Voldemort with her tiny hands. The baby’s dark brown eyes blew wide, filled with awe and happiness (?) when they looked at Voldemort. Voldemort, on his part, looked completely uninterested, ignoring the baby’s heart-melting giggles. A heart of bedrock, this one. “You can do better than him,” Harry whispered to the baby girl, patting the girl’s back comfortingly, sending a venomous glare Voldemort’s way. “Kidnapping magical children now?” “No,” was everything Voldemort said, sounding amused. “The child’s name is Delphini. She is my biological offspring.” Silence.  Harry was rendered speechless. Voldemort leaned against the wall, not moving to separate Harry from his — his daughter. There was no way… No way this adorable, cute baby girl was the offspring of… the entire nightmare-fuel package that Voldemort is. “What crazy woman had sex with you?!” shrieked Harry incredulously.

“I haven't had relations since my rebirth, Harry. Delphini is a special case. She was not conceived. She was created with blood magic.” At Harry's gaping mouth, he continued, “Bella stole a drop of my blood without my knowledge.”

“Oh,” said Harry, suddenly feeling very sorry for Voldemort. He had a kid he didn't even know about... And... By the looks of it... didn't want.

Voldemort raised a hand, most likely prophesizing a speech. Harry readjusted Delphini in her arms for the toddler to be more comfortable.

“I don't ask for your pity,” he said coldly. “I ask you raise the child and take care of it.”

Harry was sure if she wasn't holding Delphini, she would have dropped her from shock.