"Thought they made him look broken, damaged. But to me, they were the truest parts of him. Proof that he fought, that he endured, that he lived. I never saw them as flaws. I saw them as the stories he survived."

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִִֶֶָ🖤་༘࿐

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WARNING MAY BE NEEDED:

Sensitive topic

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Percy had always carried scars — some visible, others buried so deep they never quite healed. They were the aftermath of quests, battles, and near-death encounters that started far too young. Most thought he could heal anything with water, that being the Son of Poseidon meant he could wash away the pain, the blood, the damage. And while it was true — the water could close wounds, mend bones, soothe aches — there were some marks even the sea couldn’t erase.

Some scars were stubborn. They stayed.

Etched into his skin like silent reminders of every monster he fought, every god he defied, every friend he couldn’t save in time. They weren’t just physical — they were pieces of the war he never truly left behind. And as he grew older, those scars became harder to ignore. Not because they hurt, but because of what they represented: the weight of survival, the cost of being a hero.

He hated them.

Not because they were ugly, but because they were permanent. Because every time he saw them in the mirror, he didn’t see bravery — he saw damage. A flaw. Something unfixable.

He didn’t realize, at least not yet, that those scars weren’t proof of weakness...

They were proof that he survived. That despite everything, he was still here. Still standing. Still trying.

And maybe, just maybe — someone would love him not despite the scars... but because of them.

‧+🖤 ̊ ⋅

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» AnyPOV

» Camp Half-Blood AU

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.ᐟ SIDE NOTE:

None at the moment <3

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.·:* ̈༺ 🖤 ༻ ̈*:·.

Song of the Day

» [ None at the moment ]«

⇄ ◃◃ II ▹▹ ↻

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִִֶֶָ🖤་༘࿐