"Those over the hill hold disdain to any idea of strangeness in this world, while the next young heirs to the world wouldn't believe it as anything but."
Can I request something platonic for the ob boys in book 6 + pomfiore with a kid fem yuu who was trained to use a heavy handed weapon like a scythe or a spear (bonus points if the weapon has a gun mode) taking down 2 blot phantoms at once but is incredibly reckless while doing it
I got inspired by this scene from rwby bcuz I felt the need to stress some of my favorites out
Them with a very reckless and skilled kid!Yuu (platonic)
A/N: would I get slimed if I said i'm an anime only and haven't played the game yet and all the info I have is from spoilers and searching things up?? Yeeaahhhh probably. Oh well. Sooo with that being said this might be very chopped and inaccurate bc I had to go off of a crappy Google summary. I also kinda tried a new style for this one. Kiiiinda. I also had NO IDEA what card to use as my banner sooo uhm you get the pometrio ig
the first time they truly understand how terrifying you are, it happens during complete chaos. blot phantoms were everywhere, smoke curling through the air while students scrambled desperately to contain the situation from spiraling further out of control by the second. everyone was already exhausted from everything that was thrown at them, nerves frayed thin. then somehow, in the middle of all that panic, you became the thing that shocked them most. because before anyone could properly stop you, you charged directly toward two blot phantoms alone.
your weapon unfolded with a loud metallic shhk-CLACK, the massive scythe nearly twice your size gleaming under the emergency lights before shifting seamlessly into gun form. the recoil alone should have knocked someone your age flat onto the floor. instead, you used it to propel yourself forward faster. honestly, it was horrifying to watch. not because you were weak, but because you clearly were not.
idia's brain completely short-circuits almost immediately. objectively speaking, you look cool as hell. a tiny kid wielding a transforming scythe-gun hybrid thingy while pulling off impossible acrobatic attacks against giant monsters looks exactly like something out of a high-budget action game. if this were fictional, idia would absolutely be obsessed with your character build. except this's real, and every reckless thing you do makes his stomach lurch violently. at one point you literally use the recoil from your weapon to launch yourself sideways through the air straight toward a phantom's blind spot. "THβTHAT'S NOT HOW PHYSICS WORKSβ" idia's voice cracks halfway through the yell while you slam the scythe blade directly through the phantom before spinning hard enough to fire another shot point-blank into the second one. sparks fly everywhere. your sleeve is partially torn open from an injury you clearly have not noticed yet, and somehow you're still moving. that's the part that gets him. you fight like pain is irrelevant, like your body's just another tool to throw at the problem until it stops moving. afterward idia hovers awkwardly nearby while someone patches you up because despite everything he just witnessed, you suddenly look painfully small sitting there exhausted with your giant weapon propped beside you. honestly, seeing you casually shrug off injuries while asking if everyone else is okay makes something twist painfully in his chest.
jamil notices your recklessness almost instantly. while everyone else is still trying to process the fact that a child is fighting blot phantoms head-on with terrifying efficiency, jamil's already adjusting his own movements to compensate for you specifically. every time you overextend yourself to land a stronger hit, he redirects attacks away from your blind spots before the phantoms can capitalize on them. because your combat instincts are incredible, genuinely terrifying for someone your age, but your self-preservation is practically nonexistent. there's one moment where you deliberately throw yourself between another student and an incoming attack without hesitation. jamil's heart genuinely skips because you don't even think about it. you just move. after the battle, when he finally gets close enough to properly look at you, he notices blood dripping steadily down your arm from where one phantom clipped you earlier. "...how long have you been injured?" you blink at him like the question barely matters. "oh. that? i'm fine. 's just a scratch" jamil goes very still after hearing that because he recognizes that tone. the casual dismissal, the instinctive minimization of pain, the complete lack of concern for your own wellbeing. someone taught you that surviving mattered more than staying safe, and honestly, that realization unsettles him badly.
vil is furious in the kind of terrifyingly quiet way that makes everyone nearby nervous automatically. because while everyone else is still caught between shock and awe watching you fight, vil is noticing something much uglier underneath it all. yes, your skill is extraordinary. yes, the weapon itself is impressive. but no child should fight like this. no child should throw themselves into danger so naturally that getting hurt barely even registers anymore. the moment that truly gets to him is when a phantom nearly catches you directly across the chest and your immediate response isn't fear. it's annoyance, like the injury is inconvenient rather than dangerous. vil feels sick because bravery is one thing. this's conditioning. after the fight "ends", vil personally takes over bandaging your injuries despite your repeated attempts to insist you can handle it yourself. "stop moving." "...but iβm okay?" "you're bleeding through the bandages." you glance downward. "...oh." vil has to close his eyes briefly after that because no child should sound so genuinely surprised by their own injuries. later that week, long after everything was over, he keeps replaying the image of you fighting in his head. not because of how strong you looked, but because of how little regard you seemed to have for whether you survived it.
rook's fascinated at first. not by the violence itself, but by your sheer determination. the way you move despite the weaponβs impossible weight, the sharp precision behind every strike, the unwavering focus in your expression even while facing monsters much larger than yourself. there is something almost theatrical about it, like watching a tiny warrior charging fearlessly into impossible odds. and then rook notices the recklessness. he notices the way you willingly leave openings if it means protecting someone else faster, the way you continue fighting through injuries without hesitation, the complete absence of fear whenever you throw yourself directly into danger. suddenly the scene becomes far less admirable and far more heartbreaking because he realizes this isn't confidence. this is a child who learned far too early that their own safety mattered less than the objective. after the battle, he kneels beside you while you sit exhausted against the wall, oversized weapon resting beside you almost protectively. there's soot on your face, exhaustion pulling at your eyes, and yet the first thing you ask is whether everyone else made it out safely. rook's expression softens immediately. "...little hunter," he says quietly, "you must learn that your life holds value as well." you stare at him blankly like the idea genuinely never occurred to you before, and honestly, that hurts him more than the injuries do.
epel thinks you are the coolest person alive for approximately five minutes because c'mon. you're tiny, wielding a giant transforming scythe-gun, launching yourself through the air while taking down blot phantoms twice your size. it's objectively awesome. then he realizes you're actively trying to get yourself killed. "WHAT 'RE YA DOIN'?!" epel nearly chokes watching you let a phantom get dangerously close just so you can land a stronger counterattack. you move too fast, too recklessly, completely unconcerned with how badly things could go wrong if you miscalculate even slightly. and the thing is? you probably know that. you just do not care. that realization scares him badly because underneath all your terrifying skill, you're still just a kid. a tired one, apparently, judging by how hard you're breathing once the fight finally ends. epel ends up helping support your weight afterward when exhaustion starts catching up to you all at once, and despite everything he witnessed earlier, despite the terrifying way you fought, you suddenly feel weirdly small leaning against him while clutching your oversized weapon loosely in one hand. "...ya gotta stop doin' stuff like that!" he mutters eventually. you blink sleepily at him. "doing what?" epel looks genuinely distressed for a second because you sound completely sincere, like you truly don't understand why everyone looked so horrified watching you fight.
Hello ! I don't know if your requests are open still (or I may have missed the text somewhere saying that it isn't open) but could I PERCHANCE request the OB! cast (timeskip) as dads with a daughter like toph beifong? (Blind since birth, incredible adaptability in situations and being able to see their surroundings through seismic sense, a prodigy fighter !!)
For Leona specifically though...maybe the scenario would be him helping turn stuff into sand for his daughter to bend !! if this isn't too complicated.
Feel free to ignore this ! Have a wonderful hour.
[TWST] OVERBLOT BOYS & TOPH! Reader
Contains: Fluff, Chaos, Father and Daughter bonding moments, Blind, and Earth bending
A/N: OMG TOPH IS SO PEAK sorry this took so long most of the time when its lengthy characters or all the cast they take longer to write but I hope you appreciate the amount of work I put into this!
Summary: Born without sight but never without strength, you read the world through the ground every step, every heartbeat, every lie. Stone speaks to you. Sand sings. Nothing moves without you knowing, and your father seems to try to help you out in any way he can
β°ββ€βΈβΈβ Twisted Wonderlandΰ Λ.
βββββ ΛπΉ When Riddle first held you, you were impossibly small warm, solid, alive in a way that terrified him more than any blot ever could. He remembers the weight of you against his chest, the way your tiny fingers curled into the fabric of his glove, and how your crying stopped the moment he steadied his breathing. Even then, you listened. Not with your eyes never with those but with something deeper something grounded
βββββ ΛπΉ The stone courtyard is cool beneath your bare feet. You like it that way no shoes, no barriers. Every vibration travels cleanly through you, whispering secrets about the world: the uneven mortar lines, the faint crack near the rose trellis, the steady rhythm of your fatherβs heartbeat a few paces behind you
βββββ ΛπΉ He thinks you donβt notice when heβs nervous. βYou may begin when ready,β Riddle says, posture straight, hands folded behind his back while a snort came from you βYou always say that like thereβs a wrong time.β Thereβs a pause coming from riddle and the faintest shift of fabric ββ¦Point taken.β
βββββ ΛπΉ You grin and set your stance, feet planted wide, toes curling slightly against the stone. The courtyard comes alive beneath you every tremor, every echo of magic lingering in the ground. You see it all, mapped out in sensation instead of light
βββββ ΛπΉ You stomp once and the ground answers beneath you. Stone loosens, not shattering but listening, the solid surface giving way into fine, obedient sand that spills outward in a perfect circle around you
βββββ ΛπΉ You donβt rush it. You let the vibrations settle, let the sand tell you where it wants to go. Your hands sweep through the air and the grains follow, lifting, spiraling, shaping themselves into low walls and ridges. Behind you, Riddle inhales sharply smiling softly watching you even if you can't see it he felt proud and well you felt it
βββββ ΛπΉ βYou converted compact stone into sand without destabilizing the foundation,β he says carefully. βThat degree of control isβ¦ exceptional.β You turn your head toward him, smirking. βThatβs a long way of saying βwow.ββ ββ¦I do not say βwow.ββ βBut youβre thinking it.β Riddle huffed ββ¦Yes.β You laugh, and the sound makes his shoulders relax just a little
βββββ ΛπΉ As the sand settles, you wobble just barely. The effort always leaves a faint aftershock in your legs before you can even register it, Riddle is there one steady hand at your elbow, grounding, warm βIβve got you,β he says, low and immediate you steady yourself with a breath. βI didnβt fall.β βI know,β he replies at once. βI simplyβ¦ anticipated the possibility.β
βββββ ΛπΉ You tilted your head. βPapa.β ββ¦Yes?β βYouβre hovering again.β you snicker feeling him let out a small erk sound
βββββ ΛπΉ His fingers twitch, then deliberately loosen. He steps back but only half a pace, close enough that you can still feel his presence like a constant landmark in the earth βApologies,β he murmurs. βIβm working on it.β
βββββ ΛπΉ You reach out, pat his sleeve, leaving a dusting of sand behind. βYouβre doing fine.β That earns you a huff of disbelief. βI doubt that.β Training ends not with a command, but with Riddle kneeling beside you, producing a neatly folded cloth from his coat pocket
βββββ ΛπΉ You recognize the feeling instantly as you lift a brow. βYou carry that just for me, donβt you?β βItβs practical,β he says stiffly. βSand causes skin irritation if left unattended.β
βββββ ΛπΉ He gently wipes your hands, then your feet careful, precise, always asking before he touches sensitive areas. He never assumes. Never rushes. When heβs finished, he presses a small object into your palm your hands moved to feel it as you hear small chimes. A bell
βββββ ΛπΉ βSo you can hear me when I move too quietly,β you say pouting βYes,β Riddle confirms. βAnd so others will hear you as well. Itβsβ¦ regrettable how often people forget to announce themselves.β You curl your fingers around it ββ¦You think of everything.β He hesitates. Then reaches out and adjusts the ribbon in your hair just slightly crooked, just the way you like it
βββββ ΛπΉ βI do not intend to be my mother,β he says softly. βBut I do intend to be present. If the world insists on underestimating you, then it will answer to me.β You lean into him without warning, pressing your forehead against his chest. His heartbeat is steady now. Strong. He stiffens then carefully rests his chin atop your head
βββββ ΛπΉ βYou are not fragile,β Riddle continues, voice firm but warm. βYou are capable. Brilliant. And frighteningly powerful.β A small pause ββ¦However,β he adds, βyou are also my child. And it is my privilege to walk beside you not ahead of you.β You smile, grounding yourself in the sound of his voice, the solid reassurance of him there
βββββ ΛπΉ βGood,β you say. βBecause I hate being led." He exhales, something like a laugh. ββ¦So Iβve noticed.β
βββββ Λπ¦ When Leona first held you, he did it like you might explode. Not because you were fragile he could tell immediately you werenβt but because he didnβt trust his own strength. One arm braced under you, the other stiff at your back, ears flattened in concentration. You were warm. Solid. Heavy in a way that grounded him instead of frightening him
βββββ Λπ¦ You stopped crying the moment he sat down and pressed his bare foot to the floor ββ¦Huh,β he muttered. βYou listen better than most adults.β a giggle came from your tiny body as your chubby finger was held by Leona whos eyes softened for a moment
βββββ Λπ¦ The savanna stretches endless beneath your feet. Warm earth, sparse stone, grasses brushing your ankles. You love the feeling the ground vibrating, alive, like itβs telling you stories. Each step carries a pulse, every stomp a language of sand and rock, and Leona is there, quiet, letting you feel it all before he moves you toward more formal lessons
βββββ Λπ¦ βYou done standing there or what?β he drawls. βThe groundβs not gonna introduce itself.β You snort. βMaybe it would if you stopped glaring at it.β βIβm not glaring.β βYes you are. The sandβs nervous.β "How?" Leona said deadpanned "cause I can see it" "what do you mean you can-" Leona paused seeing you putting your hand in front of your eyes waving it while grinning, thereβs a pause. A low click of his tongue. ββ¦Smart mouth.β
βββββ Λπ¦ Leona exhales through his nose, tail flicking once. βYouβre lucky the sand canβt talk back.β You plant your feet, grin widening. βIt is talking back. You just donβt listen.β βTch. I listen fine. Kings Roarβ Leoka raised his hand placing it on a large stone letting it crumble to the ground into sand as it hums beneath you, low and steady, like itβs amused at him ββ¦Great,β Leona mutters. βNow the sand got jokes.β
βββββ Λπ¦ He jerks his chin toward the open stretch of savanna. βShow me.β You step forward, barefoot, toes sinking into warm grit. The earth greets you like an old friend, vibrations crawling up your legs, mapping every stone, every root beneath the surface. Leona watches closely, golden eyes narrowed not in judgment, but in focus. Predator stillness βDonβt overdo it,β he adds lazily. βLast thing I need is the ground swallowing my favorite nap spot.β
βββββ Λπ¦You roll your shoulders. βYou nap everywhere Dad.β βAnd now Iβm gonna nap here,β he says, plopping down onto a rock. βSo make it impressive.β
βββββ Λπ¦ You stomp once. The savanna answers like a ripple. The sand shivers, then slowly lifts, curling into low ridges around your feet. Stones nudge themselves into neat lines, like the earth is tidying up for you. Leonaβs ears twitch. His tail goes still ββ¦Huh,β he murmurs. βDidnβt even crack the surface. Clean work.β
βββββ Λπ¦ βAgain,β he says, sitting up straighter. βThis time, move something heavy. Over there.β He points at a half-buried slab of stone, old and sun-warmed, stubbornly lodged in the earth. You reach out with your senses first. Feel its weight. Its history. The way itβs settled in like it belongs there You frown. βIt doesnβt wanna move.β Leona snorts. βYeah, neither do I. You still drag me up in the mornings.β
βββββ Λπ¦ You plant your stance wider, breathe out slow. The earth pushes back at first. Then it listens. The slab shudders. Sand loosens around its edges. With a low groan, the stone lifts just enough to tilt, then settles again, half-freed. Your legs tremble. The effort burns deep, like your bones are buzzing before you can wobble, Leonaβs there. Not hovering not grabbing just close enough that his presence anchors you. βEasy,β he says quietly. βYou donβt gotta force it. The groundβs stubborn, not stupid.β You steady yourself with a breath. βIt felt heavy.β βYeah,β he replies. βPower usually does.β
βββββ Λπ¦He crouches beside you, presses his palm flat to the dirt. You feel it through your feet the faint thrum of his magic, the way he listens to the terrain without bending it to his will βTry asking instead of ordering,β he mutters. βThe Savanna doesnβt like being told what to do. Neither do I.β
βββββ Λπ¦You try again. Softer this time. Your foot taps once not a stomp, just a greeting. The earth responds with a gentle shift, loosening its grip. The slab slides free, scraping forward a few inches before settling neatly at your feet. No shaking. No backlash. Just cooperation as you grin throwing the stone slab back and using the sand making it shift from walls to pillars before having them drop back to the floor
βββββ Λπ¦ The training ends with you flopping down beside him, warm sand sticking to your calves and feet. The savanna hums quietly under you both, content. Leona leans back on his elbows, eyes half-lidded βYou did good today,β he says, like itβs nothing. Then, after a beat, softer ββ¦Youβre gonna be a problem someday.β "Thanks Dad" you said as you reached out to where he would be "Wrong way kid" "YOU MOVED!" a chuckle came from leona
βββββ Λπ When Azul first held you, he did it like you might slip through his fingers. Not because you were fragile he could tell immediately you werenβt but because you were slick with seawater and newborn warmth, small and surprisingly heavy for something so tiny
βββββ ΛπHis grip was careful, practiced from handling contracts and ledgers, not infants. One hand supported your back, the other curled around your side, knuckles stiff with nerves. You were warm. Solid. Real. It grounded him in a way numbers never could
βββββ Λπ βYou mayβ¦ begin when ready,β Azul says, cane tapping once against the stone for emphasis. You snort. βYou say that like Iβm gonna wait for permission.β Thereβs a pause. ββ¦A fair assessment,β he admits, adjusting his glasses
βββββ ΛπYou set your stance, feet bare against the cold stone. The training hall opens up in your senses, every vibration mapping the space in your mind. Pillars. Walls. Azulβs steady presence just off to your right. Further back, two familiar, lazy signatures leaning against the doorway
βββββ Λπ βOoo, front row seats,β Floydβs voice lilts. Jade hums thoughtfully. Azul doesnβt turn. βThis is a controlled exercise,β he says. βTry not toβ¦ encourage structural damage.β βCanβt promise anything,β you grin before stomping the ground causing the stone to ripple outward in a low wave, not shattering, but bending to your will. The surface buckles and rises into a broad ridge in front of you, smooth where you intend it to be, jagged only at the edges. You roll your shoulders, feeling the magic settle into your bones
βββββ Λπ βExcellent conversion speed,β he says, pride slipping through his composed tone. βYou maintained structural integrity while shifting density. Thatβsβ¦ not easy.β "Hah! watch this" You grinned
βββββ ΛπYou pivot too sharply, riding the wave of magic a little too hard. The floor bucks in response, and the aftershock rattles up your legs. Before you can fully stumble, Azulβs hand finds your wrist, grounding you with a steady flow of mana
βββββ Λπ βDonβt overpower it,β he murmurs. βRedirect. The ground isnβt your enemy.β You steady yourself with a huff. βI wasnβt gonna fall. βI know,β he says immediately. βI intercepted the momentum. Thereβs a difference.β
βββββ ΛπThe stone settles as your magic winds down, the arena growing quiet beneath your feet. The vibrations soften, the floor finally at rest. Azul lingers close not crowding, not pulling away either his presence a steady landmark in your senses
βββββ Λπ βYou push yourself too hard when you get excited,β he says, not scolding observing. βYour control is improving. Your recovery is what needs work.β You roll your shoulders. βIβm fine.β βI know,β he answers. βYou always are. That doesnβt mean you donβt deserve a moment to breathe.β
βββββ Λπ He doesnβt touch you this time. Instead, he adjusts his stance so you can feel him clearly through the floor solid, grounded, unshaken. A quiet reminder that youβre not holding the ground alone
βββββ Λπ You huff, but the tension eases out of your posture anyway ββ¦Youβre annoying when youβre right.β Azul exhales softly, the sound almost a laugh. βI consider that one of my more reliable qualities.β
βββββ Λπ βYou worry too much.β He exhales softly. βYes. And you worry far too little. Between us, we achieve something resembling balance.β Jade and Floyd drift past, footsteps light against the stone. Jade offers a small nod. βYouβre improving quickly.β Floyd leans down just enough for you to feel the vibration of his grin. βNext time, crack the ceiling.β
βββββ Λπ βAbsolutely not,β Azul says at once. Then, softer, to you, βYou are powerful. Frighteningly so. But power without intent is just noise. Learn to choose how you shape the world.β You take a slow breath, grounding yourself in the steady rhythm of the floor, in the familiar weight of his presence nearby. βGot it.β He hesitates, then places a brief, careful hand atop your head ββ¦Iβm proud of you,β he says quietly
βββββ Λπ When Jamil first held you, he was tense, staring at you. Not because you seemed fragile, you didnβt. Your cries were sharp, your fists stubbornly clenched, but because he had never held something that wasnβt meant to be managed
βββββ Λπ One hand steadied your head, the other firm at your back, posture perfect as if control alone could guarantee safety. Your unfocused eyes didnβt follow the light, and the room had gone quiet at the healerβs words. Jamil hadnβt. He only adjusted his grip, expression calm. βShe will adapt,β he said evenly while you squirmed with surprising strength, and something quiet and resolute settled in his chest
βββββ Λπ He learned very early that underestimating someone is how you lose control of a situation. And he refuses to ever make that mistake especially with you
βββββ Λπ The training courtyard is sun-warmed stone and packed earth, measured and orderly just how Jamil prefers it. You stand barefoot at its center, toes curled slightly into the grit.
βββββ Λπ Jamil stands across from you, posture straight, hands clasped behind his back. Kalim lounges beneath the shaded archway with his partner, bright eyes fixed on the scene. Heβs smiling soft, fond, entirely unbothered βIsnβt she amazing?β he whispers, nudging Jamilβs shoulder lightly
βββββ Λπ Jamil does not look away from you βShe has potential,β he replies evenly Kalim beams. βYouβre proud.β "...She is my daughterβ Jamil corrects
βββββ Λπ You rolled your shoulders once, feeling the courtyard map itself beneath your feet. Jamil shifted his weight, testing you. You slapped your hands together in front of you as the ground below answered instantly
βββββ Λπ A controlled ripple spread outward in a perfect ring, sand shivering, stone humming as the vibration travelled straight toward him and stopped precisely at the tip of his shoes not a grain displaced beyond that point
βββββ Λπ Kalim clapped once, delighted. βThat was amazing!β Jamil inclined his head slightly. βImproved radius control.β You grinned. βYou didnβt even move.β βI wasnβt required to.β Your grin widened at your father's voice as you pivoted sharply, heel grinding into the stone. A jagged pillar of rock shot upward at his left side a blind angle for anyone who relied on sight
βββββ Λπ Jamil moved half a step, that was all. The pillar froze inches from his shoulder βPredictable,β he said calmly βYou shifted your weight,β you shot back at your Dad pouting βYes.β βThatβs cheating.β βItβs adaptation.β Kalim laughed softly from the archway. βShe really does sound like you.β Jamil exhaled once through his nose but didnβt dignify that with a response
βββββ Λπ He stepped forward without warning the pressure changed light, sudden displacement through the air as he leapt. You felt it before he landed your palm slammed down. Stone snapped upward in a curved wall behind you, intercepting the exact point of impact. His foot tapped against it testing as it held
βββββ Λπ Dust drifted down in a quiet curtain βAcceptable,β Jamil said You beamed, chest lifting with pride. βYou escalate when youβre confident,β he continued evenly. βYou use force where precision would suffice.β βThe ground listens better when I stomp Dad! come on!" You huffed βIt listens more clearly when you do not rush it.β Jamil replied back
βββββ Λπ βTry again,β he said. This time, you didnβt stomp. You pressed your heel slowly into the earth The vibration traveled differently. Smoother. Deeper. The stone beneath you rose in a broad, steady platform, lifting you just above the courtyard floor. No cracking. No jagged edges
βββββ Λπ Just clean elevation Kalim gasped in quiet delight. βOh! Thatβs new!β Jamil looked up at you, eyes sharp, evaluating every tremor. The platform wobbled slightly as your legs trembled from effort
βββββ Λπ Jamil merely stepped closer close enough that you could feel him clearly through the ground. Solid. Unshaken. A steady landmark beneath the vibrations βYou are not fighting the earth,β he said. βYou are negotiating with it.β You steadied your breathing ββ¦Itβs stubborn.β βSo are you.β You made a up motion with a small sand pillar, hitting your dad's sides. βThatβs your fault.β ββ¦Likely.β
βββββ Λπ From the archway, Kalim smiled warmly at his advisor. There was pride there not just for you, but for him. βYouβre a good teacher,β Kalim said softly. Jamil didnβt answer immediately. You lowered the platform carefully, letting it settle back into place with a muted thud. No cracks. No backlash. Just obedience as the dust settled
βββββ Λπ The courtyard returned to stillness ββ¦She is a capable student,β Jamil replied. You turned your face toward him. βDid I do well baba?β βYes,β he said, voice steady and certain. βYou did.β
βββββ Λπ Behind him, Kalimβs smile only widened as he watched the two of you as you beamed at your Dad hugging his waist as he hugged you back smiling subtly
βββββ Λππ Vil never once described you as βunfortunate.β From the moment you were placed in his arms, tiny fingers gripping his sleeve with startling strength, he did not sigh. He did not pity. He did not mourn what you βlacked. Doctors spoke in softened tones. Advisors suggested special accommodations. Tutors recommended gentler instruction. Vil dismissed them all. βMy daughter,β he said evenly, adjusting the fall of his hair over his shoulder, βwill not be treated as porcelain.β
βββββ Λππ You were blind since birth and from the moment your feet could press against the floor, you were listening. The estate staff learned quickly not to whisper near marble corridors. You always knew who was approaching. You always knew when someone hesitated before speaking to you
βββββ Λππ The first time he realizes you can βseeβ through vibrations? It happens during a public event. Someone tries to sneak up behind him backstage and you tilt your head slightly βThree steps behind you.." Vil doesnβt even turn around. He smiles patting your head βThank you, my dear.β The man freezes.
βββββ Λππ Vil connects the dots quickly. Your sensitivity to flooring changes. The way you avoid obstacles without hesitation. The way your bare feet prefer stone, earth, or wood. He commissions training halls with different textures.
βββββ Λππ The first time you cracked the training floor with a single stomp, the instructors panicked. Vil only said, βAgain. But with control.β before you could say anything you could hear his heel click to the floor as a sign to start
βββββ Λππ You steadied your breathing. Felt the ground. Listened to the tiny shifts in weight around you. When you bent the earth this time, it rose smooth and clean instead of wild βBetter,β he said calmly "Ha! Whatcha know I'm-" "Remember to speak properly and clearly" Vil reminded instantly knowing you could sense his side eye
βββββ Λππ Vil taught you that beauty wasnβt about being seenvβBeauty is precision,β he would remind you. βPower without control is just chaos.β When you sparred, you didnβt rush. You waited. You felt the vibration of your opponentβs stance before they moved. You turned their strength against them with small, exact motions
βββββ Λππ Every step had purpose. Every strike had intention. He corrected your posture, your breathing, your timing. Not to make you softer, sharper. Even in battle, Vil cared about presentation despite the fact you always fussed and would whine about it (Reminding him too much of Epel)
βββββ Λππ Your clothes were chosen for movement. Your hair was styled so it wouldnβt distract you. If you preferred fighting barefoot, he allowed it as long as the floor was safe βChin up,β he would say gently. βShoulders back. Even if you cannot see them, they will see you.β
βββββ Λππ It had only been a small thing Vil adjusting your collar, gently reminding you that posture and presentation mattered. However, after a long day of training, dust still clinging to your clothes and the stone cool beneath your bare feet, the words felt heavier than usual
βββββ Λππ When he began suggesting a neater hairstyle and straighter stance, something in you snapped at Vil βOne of the good things about being blind is that I donβt have to worry about my appearance. I donβt need anyoneβs approval. I know who I am.β
βββββ Λππ instead of reprimand, a slow, unmistakable smile touched his lips. There was pride there, quiet but deep. He stepped closer, smoothing your sleeve not to correct you, but simply because he could. βConfidence,β he said evenly, voice softer than before, βis a beauty few ever truly master.β And in that moment, he could not have been more proud that his daughter had learned to stand her ground even against him
βββββ Λππ After that day, something shifted. Vil did not abandon his love for refinement but he stopped trying to polish you mid-battle
βββββ Λππ If you wanted to fight with dirt on your hands and your hair loose, so be it. Beauty, he realized, did not have to look pristine
βββββ Λππ Sometimes it looked like cracked stone and dust clouds. Sometimes it looked like you grinning with scraped knuckles and earth rising wildly at your command, and if fighting βdirtyβ meant winning intelligently, then he would not restrain you
βββββ Λπ When Idia held you, the monitors in the S.T.Y.X. medical wing were still softly chiming, sterile lights reflecting faintly off the metallic trim of his coat
βββββ Λπ He looked wildly out of place there long blue flame-like hair cascading nearly to the floor, yellow eyes too bright, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and fragile wonder. Yet when the nurse placed you into his arms, he didnβt recoil
βββββ Λπ He laughed. It was breathless. Shaky. Disbelieving. βW-Whoaβ¦ sheβs so tiny,β he murmured, voice cracking in a way no board meeting had ever forced from him. His hands, more accustomed to holographic keyboards and containment interfaces, adjusted carefully beneath your back and head. Despite the tremor in his fingers, his grip was secure. Protective. Instinctive
βββββ Λπ Your cry was sharp and stubborn, fists clenched as if already ready to argue with the universe. He grinned, eyes shining. βOkay. Yeah. High stat roll in Strength.β The room quieted when Ortho floated closer, optics scanning gently. His voice, warm but clinical, broke the hush
βββββ Λπ βNii-sanβ¦ ocular response remains unreactive. She is not responding to light stimuli.β For a moment, the silence thickened. The medical staff exchanged careful glances
βββββ Λπ Idia merely adjusted you closer to his chest, flame hair flickering brighter rather than dimming. His chin lowered until it brushed the crown of your head ββ¦So what?β he said softly, almost offended on your behalf. βSight is just one input system. Weβll optimize the rest.β Ortho tilted his head. βYou are not distressed?β
βββββ Λπ Idiaβs lips curved faintly, stubborn and certain. βI grew up under a hereditary curse and survived an underworld containment breach. I think I can handle parenting on hard mode.β His thumb brushed across your tiny knuckles, which tightened around him reflexively
βββββ Λπ The S.T.Y.X. headquarters was not designed for toddlers. It was designed for containment. For precision. For catastrophic failures of Overblots, and Phantoms measured and prevented in milliseconds
βββββ Λπ Yet somehow, within months, it became your territory. By the time you began to crawl, you preferred the reinforced metal corridors over padded nursery flooring. You would pause frequently, palms pressing flat against the cool surface, head tilting slightly as if listening to something deeper than sound
βββββ Λπ One afternoon, Idia had been pacing a habit he never quite lost during high-stress diagnostics. His boots made almost no audible noise on the treated flooring, and he had not spoken. Yet you changed direction mid-crawl you moved straight toward him without hesitation
βββββ Λπ You bumped gently into his shin, grabbed the edge of his coat, and looked up at nothing in particular βPapa,β you said confidently, as though correcting him. βYouβre walking in circles.β He froze ββ¦Ortho.β βYes, Nii-san.β βSheβs not guessing, right?β βNegative. She is detecting vibrational patterns through conductive flooring. Early seismic mapping adaptation confirmed.β His laugh this time was quieter. Almost reverent. ββ¦Sheβs cracked the engine.β From that day forward, you refused shoes
βββββ Λπ As you grew, so did your awareness. You learned the rhythm of the servers humming beneath the earth, the difference between techniciansβ steps and guardsβ patrol routes, the subtle change in your fatherβs gait when anxiety crept in
βββββ Λπ He could not hide from you not truly. You would sit cross-legged on the laboratory floor while he worked, flame-lit screens reflecting in his golden eyes, and without looking at him you would say, βYouβre thinking too loud.β ββ¦Thatβs not how thinking works,β he would mutter automatically. βYouβre pacing again.β He would glance down and he was
βββββ Λπ A slow exhale would leave him, and he would consciously steady his steps. For you. He never mentioned how much that meant
βββββ Λπ What he had not anticipated was your personality. You spoke to everyone. Technicians, engineers, visiting officials your confidence startled them. You did not wait for assistance. You did not tolerate pity
βββββ Λπ Once, a junior researcher offered to guide you by the elbow. The ground trembled sharply beneath him just enough to destabilise his balance βI know where Iβm standing,β you said flatly
βββββ Λπ Idia, watching from a distance, exhaled slowly through his nose ββ¦Thatβs my kid.β and yet, your extroversion remained a constant bewilderment to him
βββββ Λπ He found you one day enthusiastically explaining vibrational feedback loops to three interns, hands animated, barefoot on polished tile as though it were your personal domain
βββββ ΛπOrtho drifted beside him. βShe has initiated social interaction with seventeen new individuals this week.β Idia dragged a hand down his face. βWhy is she charismatic. Thatβs not genetically consistent.β You ran to him moments later and wrapped your arms around his waist without hesitation βPapa! I made friends!β
βββββ Λπ When you were old enough to demand training not ask, demand Idia did not refuse especially due to the fact you threatened your own father that you would find any sort of piece of earth to use against him
βββββ Λπ Idia modified an outer courtyard within S.T.Y.X.βs compound, layering compacted stone over reinforced metal plating for maximum vibrational clarity. Ortho created impact sensors. Safety fields remained on standby, invisible but ever-present
βββββ Λπ The afternoon sun warmed the stone as you stood barefoot at its center, toes curling slightly into grit. Your posture was confident, chin lifted, shoulders rolled once in preparation
βββββ Λπ Idia stood across from you, hands buried in his coat pockets as though he were merely tolerating this βReminder,β Ortho chimed pleasantly from the sidelines. βTodayβs objective is aerial displacement tracking.β You grinned. βUncle Ortho talks too much.β βFeedback acknowledged.β Idia sighed. ββ¦I was supposed to have a quiet gamer kid.β
βββββ Λπ You slammed your heel down. The ground answered. A controlled ripple spread outward in a perfect circle, stone humming beneath the surface as it travelled directly toward him and stopped precisely at the tips of his boots. Not a grain shifted beyond that boundary
βββββ Λπ Orthoβs optics brightened. βRadius precision improved.β Idiaβs eyes narrowed slightly in evaluation. βNot bad.β You beamed. The vibration beneath you vanished for half a second. Your brow furrowed at the sense of displacement
βββββ Λπ Your hand struck the stone hard. A jagged wall erupted behind you exactly where he would have landed, intercepting his descent in a burst of dust and fractured light. Silence settled. Idiaβs boot tapped experimentally against the newly formed barrier
βββββ Λπ You crossed your arms immediately, chin lifting in offense. βYou left the ground. Thatβs unfair.β Idia stared at you for a long second, golden eyes half-lidded. His flame hair sputtered once, then flared brighter at the tips
βββββ Λπ ββ¦Unfair?β he echoed flatly. βThatβs not βunfair,β thatβs basic combat patch notes. Airborne opponents are literally a known boss mechanic.β You scowled. βYou disappeared.β βI jumped,β he corrected dryly. βThere was a very obvious displacement of mass and airflow. Ten out of ten telegraphed move. You just hesitated.β
βββββ Λπ You stomped lightly in frustration. βI canβt feel you when youβre off the ground!β βYes,β he said, as if this were painfully obvious. βWhich is why you donβt wait for confirmation. You predict the trajectory. Think three frames ahead.β You huffed. βThatβs annoying.β
βββββ Λπ Idia folded his arms now, long sleeves shifting as embers of blue light trailed lazily down. βWelcome to combat. Enemies do not politely remain within your sensory render distance. They will absolutely exploit your blind spot. Thatβs not cruelty. Thatβs strategy.β
βββββ Λπ A huff came from you as Idia sighed, "I'm going to literally die. This is too much exercise I didn't put that much effort in when it came to P.E" Idia grumbled "I can tell Papa" Ortho snickered at your comment before sighing as you two moved
βββββ Λπ Your palm pressed flat to the stone, but the response was wrong. It wasnβt the familiar pulse of earth, steady, layered, patient. It was sharper and tighter. Alive in a different way
βββββ Λπ Beneath the courtyardβs stone tiles, something trembled. Not from the impact of you. Orthoβs voice cut through the air mid-calculation. βAnomalous frequency detected-β The ground shuddered
βββββ Λπ A thin seam split through the rock, and with a clean metallic shriek, a ribbon of alloy tore upward, gleaming silver in the afternoon light. It curved instinctively precise, controlled intercepting Idia mid-descent
βββββ Λπ He landed on it eyes wide. Dust drifted through the stunned silence. The metal held him suspended between you, smooth and obedient, not warped or jagged shaped
βββββ Λπ Orthoβs optics flared brighter. βDirect manipulation of refined alloy confirmed. She is isolating mineral impurities within the structure.β You stood still, fingers barely flexing against the stone
βββββ Λπ ββ¦It felt different,β you murmured. βBut itβs still there. Inside it.β Idia didnβt answer right away. He stepped down slowly as the metal shifted again, curling faintly around your wrist before settling back into the courtyard as if nothing had happened
βββββ Λπ His golden eyes were wide. His flame hair burned brighter, embers scattering faintly into the air ββ¦You didnβt brute-force that,β he said quietly. βThatβs S.T.Y.X.-grade alloy. It resists magic.β You blinked. βSo?β Ortho hovered closer. βStatistical probability of this level of control at her current development stage was below one percent.β
βββββ Λπ A slow grin spread across Idiaβs face sharp, stunned, proud ββ¦My daughter,β he muttered, running a hand through his glowing hair, βis a full SSR character.β You frowned slightly. βIs that good?β He crouched in front of you, eyes gleaming
βββββ Λπ βItβs busted,β he corrected. βYou just unlocked a hidden mechanic.β The metal beneath your feet hummed softly, responsive. You tilted your head. ββ¦So I adapted?β Idia let out a quiet, almost breathless laugh βNo,β he said, pride slipping unfiltered into his voice. βYou escalated.β
βββββ Λπ The night you were born, the storms hat once hovered above departed from the sky. Cheers were heard from the people of Briar Valley
βββββ Λπ High above the thorn-laced towers of Briar Valley, the clouds coiled in heavy spirals, lightning flickering faintly between them as if even the sky understood that something important had entered the world. Inside the royal chamber, candlelight reflected off black crystal walls and silver embroidery, casting soft gold against dark stone
βββββ Λπ Malleus stood at the centre of it all. Tall. Still. Crown set aside and in his arms were you. You were small, wrapped in velvet the colour of deep forest moss, your tiny fingers flexing against the air as if testing it. Your eyes were open, but unfocused, unmoving despite the flicker of light
βββββ Λπ The physicianβs voice trembled βYour Majestyβ¦ the princess was born without sight.β Silence swallowed the room whole. Sebek stiffened so sharply it was a wonder he did not crack. βW-What do you mean without sight?!β
βββββ Λπ Silver blinked slowly, expression soft but concerned. Liliaβs crimson eyes sharpened, watching Malleus carefully. Malleus gaze lowered to you. You were not crying. You were not distressed. In fact, your brow was furrowed slightly as though listening before making a loud 'Bah' sound moving your first slightly
βββββ Λπ Malleus eyes softened "Without sight,β he repeated quietly βYes, Your Majesty.β A soft smile reached his lips. It was faint, but unmistakable βShe is breathing. Her magic is strong. Her heart is steady.β His voice remained calm, regal, unwavering. βWhy should I mourn what she has never possessed?β The physician faltered. βBut, Your Majesty-β βShe is my heir,β Malleus said simply
βββββ Λπ It was clear no one in that room would dare pity you. You tightened your grip around one of his fingers, surprisingly strong for someone so small. Malleus felt it the firmness, the quiet defiance in that tiny hold βYou listen,β Lilia murmured with an amused hum. βSharp little hatchling.β
βββββ Λπ Sebek dropped to one knee immediately. βEven without sight, she will be formidable! I swear it upon my life! Briar Valley shall never question her strength!β Silver smiled warmly, swaying slightly as sleep tugged at him. His head dipped for a second before jerking back upright. ββ¦Iβll protect her too.β
βββββ Λπ Malleus adjusted you carefully against his chest βMy child,β he murmured, brushing his thumb against your cheek, βyou will not be hidden.β
βββββ Λπ Your childhood was not gentle. Not because Malleus was cruel but because he refused to cage you. Servants tried at first. Soft slippers. Guided hallways. Cushioned corners but you rejected every single one
βββββ Λπ The first time the palace floor cracked beneath your bare feet, you were barely five. The courtyard had been warm from the afternoon sun. You had wandered away from your tutors again ignoring their frantic calls. The moment your feet touched stone without obstruction, you stilled
βββββ Λπ A vibration, Subtle, and Alive. You stomped experimentally. The grass beneath you rippled, stone shifted into a small, uneven ring around you, responding not to spellwork but to instinct
βββββ Λπ Malleus had felt it from three floors above. When he appeared at the balcony overlooking the courtyard, his horns silhouetted against the sky, he saw you standing in the center of disturbed earth barefoot, grinning
βββββ Λπ βI can feel it!β you declared proudly. Lilia, leaning lazily against a pillar nearby, laughed. βFeel what, little dragon?β βEverything.β You stomped again. The vibration spread further while Malleus glanced to Lilia "It seems she has discovered her unique magic"
βββββ Λπ The earth itself was answering you as you laughed. Malleus descended in a blink of green light. The ground quieted immediately under his presence, but you turned your head toward him without hesitation βYouβre three steps to the left,β you said smugly while Malleus laughed softly
βββββ ΛπTutors were assigned regardless. Geomancers. Rune scholars. Professors who specialise in blot control. You despised every single lesson held indoors. βTheyβre boring,β you muttered one afternoon, arms crossed as another lecture droned on about structured spellcasting. βThe ground teaches better.β
βββββ Λπ By lunch, you had escaped. A distant crash echoed from the training fields. Sebek flinched. ββ¦She has skipped her studies.β Silver glanced toward the noise with a knowing smile. ββ¦Sheβs practicing.β
βββββ Λπ Sure enough, when they arrived, you were in the middle of the field dirt coating your ankles, hair windswept, laughing as pillars of stone rose and fell around you like obedient soldiers
βββββ Λπ You moved differently than any mage in Briar Valley Rolling. Pushing off the ground with one hand. Flipping to regain balance when vibrations shifted too quickly. You were light on your feet for someone who relied on them so heavily
βββββ Λπ When Silver sparred with you gently, you sensed the moment his foot pressed too hard before a swing. You ducked. The earth bucked upward and knocked him clean off balance
βββββ Λπ He landed on his back with a soft thud. You hurried over instantly. βYou okay?β Silver blinked up at you, smiling warmly. βYeahβ¦ Iβm okay.β Sebek insisted on formal drills. You mocked his heavy stomping every time βYou breathe louder when youβre nervous,β you informed him once during sparring. He nearly combusted.
βββββ Λπ Lilia tested you with disappearing tricks, sudden feints, erratic movements. Each time you adapted faster, but it was Malleus who challenged you most
βββββ Λπ The first time he disrupted your connection intentionally, you nearly fell. Night covered the valley in violet and blue. The training field was quiet except for the hum of distant insects βAgain,β Malleus instructed as you stomped stone surged forward
βββββ Λπ He countered not to overpower but to distort the vibrations beneath you. A subtle magical interference. Suddenly the ground felt wrong blurry as you winced
βββββ Λπ You wobbled, frustration flashing across your face. Malleusβ voice remained steady. βThe earth is not your only sense.β You steadied your breathing. Wind brushed against your cheek "Dad" You muttered wincing "Just breathe" A soft breath escaped you
βββββ Λπ The next wave of stone curved perfectly to intercept where he moved "Again. But be faster I was quicker at your age" "DAD!" Malleus snickered knowing the earful he was going to get from his wife for teasing their daughter
βββββ Λπ Malleus sighed often when tutors complained about your absences. He pretended mild disappointment when you tracked dirt into council chambers
βββββ Λπ He maintained composure when you loudly belched at a diplomatic banquet just to hear Sebek nearly faint but every time he watched you train barefoot, stubborn, laughing as the earth bent willingly around you his chest swelled with pride
βββββ Λπ Because you were not fragile. You were adapting, and able to feel free
βββββ Λπ One evening, as the sun dipped behind Briar Valleyβs thorned skyline, you sat beside him on the palace balcony βFather?β βYes.β βYouβre not disappointed?β The question lingered between you
βββββ Λπ βThat Iβm blind,β you clarified quietly. Malleus turned fully toward you. The fading light reflected faintly in your unfocused eyes but you tilted your head toward him perfectly
βββββ Λπ He knelt before you, placing one clawed hand gently atop your head βMy child,β he said softly, βyou were born extraordinary.β You shifted slightly, listening. βYou do not lack sight,β he continued. βYou perceive the world in ways others cannot even imagine.β Below, the earth hummed faintly under your feet
βββββ Λπ βAnd Briar Valley,β Malleus said with quiet certainty, βwill one day understand that its future ruler does not need eyes to see.β You grinned leaning your head onto his side as he looked ahead to the sky
As much as i love a reader having their own personality, backstory, etc, i hate when an author gets too descriptive of them. Isnβt the point of an x reader to put yourself in their shoes? I find that hard to do when you describe clothes, looks (elegant style, perfect makeup, etc) and physical characteristics.
I hate reading a really good fic, getting immersed, then immediately being turned away from it because they described the reader a little too much in a way i would never fit.
I rock an alternative style, i donβt have a traditional hairstyle, and i donβt wear makeup, wear glasses, etc. so now when i read that βthen you put your hair up in a bunβ iβm taken out because my hair is so chopped and messy it canβt fit into a bun without looking stupid. Or when i read about very specific clothes that i would never wear in my life iβm taken out of the story.
Sometimes describing clothes can help, like in my one story, i describe the reader wearing a white nightgown, but i only felt comfortable stating that after researching medieval nightwear and it saying that men and women wore those to bed.
Idk, maybe iβm being annoying. Itβs just hard in certain fandoms that just canβt seem to stop describing a perfect looking reader and knowing that I donβt fit that. I can suspend my disbelief most of the times, you gotta for most fics, but this is such a reoccurring thing happening in this fandom that iβm reading fics in that itβs kinda wearing me down and wanted to get off my chest. Thanks to anyone who bothered to read this lol
I always forget there are maga people on tumblr, this doesnβt feel like a website youβd find them on, so to keep them away:
Reblog if your blog is a maga free zone because if it wasnβt clear enough fuck ice, fuck maga, fuck Trump, Fuck Rowling, and fuck all the other bigots I missed
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