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hjvi · 1 month ago

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𝘜𝘯𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯, 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘈𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘠𝘰𝘶

⚠︎ mdni, heavy smut, eating disorder (anorexia), overall mature subjects, and more

⤷ A gentle reminder: If my content ever feels overwhelming, please take care of yourself and step away. Anorexia is a key theme in this story, and as someone who understands its weight, this fic is deeply personal to me. I want to remind you that you're never alone in your journey.

Sending love and healing to all. 🩷

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𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙧 1: 𝙎𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝙎𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙇𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙔𝙤𝙪

It was a cold night in Boston, the kind where the chill seeps into your bones no matter how many layers you wear. I had stayed late at the skating rink, sitting on the cold, hard bench near the ice. My ribs throbbed with pain, my breath coming out in sharp gasps every time I tried to inhale too deeply. A kid from the hockey team had slammed into me during practice and sped off without so much as a backward glance. I hadn’t caught his face, but I’d seen the name on the back of his jersey before he disappeared into the chaos of the rink: *Sturniolo.*

What a jerk.

I pulled my hoodie halfway up, exposing the ugly bruise spreading across my ribs. Purple and blue blotches marred my skin, and as I reached to touch the tender area, a sharp pain made me flinch. I let out a small gasp that was quickly swallowed by the empty rink. Keeping my gaze down, I tried to steady myself, still reeling from the impact and my growing frustration.

The weight on the bench shifted, and I looked up, startled. Sitting beside me was a scrawny boy with messy hair that flopped into his piercing blue eyes. His crooked smile felt both comforting and disarming at the same time, as if we’d known each other forever. I hurriedly pulled my hoodie back down, embarrassed by my vulnerability.

The boy leaned forward and pulled a pair of skates from his bag. The last step to completing his uniform. Without hesitating, he turned to me.

“What happened?” His voice was soft but curious, laced with concern. “I saw you black and blue earlier.”

I tried brushing him off, shaking my head. But he pressed on, his blue eyes steady.

“I’ve been slammed on the rink a million times,” he said, his voice warm and earnest. “I’ve got stuff in my bag to help.”

When I didn’t immediately respond, he smiled—a little awkward, a little shy—but it was genuine. His sincerity chipped away at my defenses, and before I knew it, I found myself reluctantly lifting my hoodie just high enough for him to see the damage.

His expression changed the second he saw the bruise. There was a flicker of something—anger, maybe guilt—but he quickly masked it, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal.

“How’d it happen?” he asked, his voice calm.

I hesitated, then admitted, “Some kid from your team slammed into me before speeding off.”

His brows furrowed, and his bright eyes darkened just slightly.

“Who?” he asked, his voice quiet but firm. “What does he look like? I’ll force them to make it right if I have to.”

“Don’t,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t want to make it worse. Besides, why did he care? He didn’t even know me.

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening. He reached into his bag and pulled out a cream. Looking back at me, he held it up, his gaze asking for permission before he did anything.

“Can I?” he asked, his voice soft again.

I nodded, biting my lip. When the cream touched my skin, I flinched at the coldness and the sting.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, his hand freezing mid-movement. There was something comforting about the way he focused, his touch gentle but deliberate.

“Bro, stop flirting with that girl and get on the ice!” a voice from the rink called out.

The boy whipped his head around, his face twisting in annoyance. “Shut up, Nate, or I’ll beat your ass,” he shot back, his Boston accent cutting through the cold air.

Turning back to me, he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry about him. That’s Nate. He’s younger, so… childish at times.” He paused, then offered me that crooked smile again. “I’m Chris, by the way.”

I was still reeling, unsure how to process the interaction. “Maybe I’ll see you sometime,” he added casually. “Ninth grade is starting.”

“Maybe,” I mumbled. I didn’t know what else to say.

Chris tied the last of his laces, stood up, and turned to leave. That’s when I saw it—the name stitched across the back of his jersey: Sturniolo. My stomach sank.

“Wait,” I called out, jumping from the bench and grabbing his jersey.

He turned, confused.

“You’re the one who slammed into me on the ice,” I accused, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. “How could you sit here pretending to care when it’s your fault I’m hurt?”

His face shifted, a mix of guilt and realization. “Wait, what?”

I pointed at the name on his jersey. “I remember. You hit me and just skated off like it was nothing.”

He sat back down, patting the bench beside him. “Sit,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

Reluctantly, I did.

“That wasn’t me,” he said after a moment, his voice steady. “Matt! Nick!!” he suddenly yelled, startling me.

Two figures emerged from the shadows of the rink. They were identical to Chris, save for slight differences: one was taller, the other a bit more reserved.

“Now, which one of you hurt my friend?” Chris demanded, his voice carrying an edge I hadn’t heard before.

The taller one raised his hands defensively. “Don’t look at me. I’d never slam into a girl.”

The second boy, the same height as Chris, scratched the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact. “It was me,” he admitted quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Chris turned to me. “See? It wasn’t me.” Then he glanced back at his brothers. “Trust me, I’ll make sure he pays for that.”

The taller boy—Nick, I later learned—rolled his eyes. “Matt probably skated off because he was too scared to apologize.”

Chris smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Also, Nick here would literally never touch a girl.”

The comment made Matt chuckle nervously, adding, “Yeah, Nick’s as gay as they come.”

Nick’s face turned bright red, and he elbowed Matt in the stomach. “Shut up,” he muttered, but there was no real malice in his voice.

I couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in my chest easing. “You’re identical,” I said, my voice full of wonder.

Chris grinned. “Yeah, but don’t let that fool you. We’re all very different.”

That was the beginning. I didn’t know it then, but that moment would change everything. Chris and I became inseparable after that night. Ninth grade flew by, each day blurring into the next as we spent more and more time together. He became my person—the one who always made me laugh, who always had my back.

But as the year ended, something shifted.

By the time summer came, Chris and I were practically inseparable. Wherever he went, I wasn’t far behind. From late-night texts to aimless walks through Boston streets, it was like the city itself revolved around us.

Chris had this way of making everything feel lighter, as if the world’s weight could never touch us when we were together. He was magnetic, always moving, his energy as unstoppable as a train. Whether it was cracking jokes or randomly sprinting across the park because his ADHD made him restless, he kept life vibrant and unpredictable.

But the closer I got to Chris, the more I felt something growing in me—something I didn’t want to admit.

I was falling for him.

It started small, like a quiet hum in the background. The way his crooked smile lingered in my mind longer than it should. The way I found myself hanging onto his every word, even when he was just rambling about his brothers’ antics or the latest hockey drama. I tried to push it away, telling myself that what we had was too important to risk.

By the time school started again, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. The feelings were too big, too overwhelming, and they scared me. Chris was my best friend—my person. What if he didn’t feel the same? What if I told him how I felt, and it ruined everything?

I decided it was safer to bury it. To push him away before I let those feelings consume me.

didn’t realize it at first. Maybe I didn’t want to. But slowly, without warning, I began to fade. I started losing weight—faster than I could explain. I stopped eating. The mirror became my enemy. I stopped feeling like I belonged in the world, stopped feeling like I belonged anywhere, especially not in Chris’s world. He was always so vibrant, so full of life. And I—well, I felt like I was shrinking, piece by piece, until I barely recognized myself.

It happened slowly at first. I started skipping hangouts, pretending I was too busy or too tired. Chris noticed, of course. He always noticed.

“Why do you keep bailing on me?” he asked one day after school, his voice laced with frustration.

I shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve just got a lot going on.”

His blue eyes narrowed, searching my face for answers I wasn’t ready to give. “You know you can talk to me, right? About anything?”

I nodded, but the lump in my throat made it impossible to say more.

As the weeks passed, the distance between us grew. I stopped sitting with him at lunch, started ignoring his texts. My hoodie sleeves got longer, my jeans baggier. I could feel my body changing—getting weaker, thinner—but it felt like the only thing I could control.

Chris tried to reach me, but I kept shutting him out. I thought I was protecting myself, but really, I was just building a wall I didn’t know how to tear down.

The last time I saw him before everything fell apart was on a rainy November night.

He showed up at my house unannounced, pounding on the door until my mom let him in. I was curled up in my room, the darkness of the evening matching the heaviness in my chest. When I heard his footsteps on the stairs, my heart raced.

“Go away,” I said when he knocked on my door.

But Chris didn’t listen. He never did when he thought I needed him. He opened the door and stepped inside, his damp hoodie clinging to his frame.

“What are you doing to yourself?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Is this because of me? Did I do something wrong?”

I couldn’t respond. Instead, I buried my face in my hands, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Chris crossed the room in two strides, sitting on the bed beside me. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a hug so tight it felt like he was holding me together.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into my hair. “I’m so sorry if I did this to you.”

I sobbed into his shoulder, clutching at his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart. His arms were strong and steady, and for a moment, I let myself feel safe.

I wanted to tell him everything—that I was terrified of my feelings for him, that I didn’t know how to face the intensity of what I felt. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I sobbed. I just sobbed

He held me tightly, his embrace warm and safe. I cried into his shoulder, the pain and frustration pouring out of me. For a moment, it felt like everything might be okay.

But then he pulled back, his hands on my shoulders. His eyes, those piercing blue eyes, met mine.

He spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

“This is my fault,” he said. “I thought I could help you, but I’m just making it worse.”

I pulled back, my chest tightening. “What are you talking about?”

“I think…” he hesitated, swallowing hard. “I think it’s better if we end this. If we stop being friends. I don’t want to make this worse for you.”

“No,” I said, my voice rising in panic. “You can’t leave me. You can’t do this.”

“I have to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I hate you!” I screamed, the words ripping out of me before I could stop them. “How could you leave me like this? Like none of it mattered?”

Chris didn’t say anything. He just stood up, white knuckles clenched into fists, shoulders heavy with something I couldn’t name. He walked to the door, pausing for a moment as if he might turn back, but then he left. The sound of the front door slamming shut echoed through the house, leaving me alone with my shattered heart.

It’s been years since that night. I avoided him, avoided anything that reminded me of him. But I never stopped loving him.

It’s strange how people can haunt you—how their presence can stretch across time and memory, pulling you into a place you thought you’d left behind. I can hear Chris’s voice in my dreams, like an echo. His laughter, that goofy sound that used to be so comforting, now cuts through me in ways I don’t know how to explain.

Senior year began with a weight heavier than ever. My mom’s disappearance left me reeling, and I spent the first few months of school at home, too numb to face the world. By the time I finally returned, it felt like I was stepping into a different life—one where Chris had moved on without me.

I slipped into an empty seat, anxiety clawing at my chest.

Then I saw him.

Chris.

He was taller now, more muscular. His messy hair was a little more tamed, but his crooked smile was the same. When he saw me, his blue eyes lit up with recognition, but there was something else there too—something heavier.

He sat beside me, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. Then he smirked.

“Identical,” he said, the word laced with nostalgia.

My breath caught. I knew exactly what he meant—our first meeting, the joke about him and his brothers. It was like no time had passed at all, but the distance between us felt insurmountable.

“All these years, and you haven’t changed the slightest,” he said, his voice softer now.

I looked down at myself. My oversized hoodie, my low-rise jeans, the way my hair fell in my face. But I knew what he meant. He’d noticed the weight I hadn’t gained back, the way I still hid my body.

“I told you…” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “I told you that night to stop doing this to yourself.”

His words hit me like a punch, bringing back memories I’d tried so hard to bury. That hug. His arms around me. The tears.

Chris’s voice broke through my thoughts, louder now. “I left, and you still do this!”

He stood abruptly, his fists clenched at his sides. His blue eyes were glassy, his anger barely masking the pain behind them.

Before I could respond, he stormed out of the classroom.

I sat there, stunned, my mind racing with questions. Did he leave because he thought it was his fault? Did he think abandoning me would fix everything? Why was he angry now?

Matt, sitting across the room, pulled out his phone. After a quick glance, he stood and left too.

Matt always left class. He said it was anxiety, but I’d never been sure. Now I wondered if it had always been tied to Chris. Had they both avoided me because of some unspoken agreement?

The bell rang, but I didn’t move. My body felt heavy, like I was rooted to the chair, the echo of Chris’s words replaying in my head. I told you to stop doing this to yourself.

The classroom emptied around me, but I couldn’t bring myself to stand. My mind was a storm of emotions—shock, regret, guilt, anger. Chris had walked back into my life after years, only to see the version of me I had worked so hard to keep hidden.

He still cared. That much was clear in the way his eyes had softened when he looked at me, even as his voice carried the weight of frustration. But it wasn’t enough to dull the sting of his departure years ago, or the hollow ache of losing him.

I finally forced myself to leave the classroom, the hallways now quiet except for the faint hum of the janitor’s floor buffer in the distance. I walked with my head down, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as if that could hold me together.

The air outside was crisp, the late autumn wind biting at my cheeks as I pushed open the school’s heavy front doors. Clouds hung low, heavy and gray, threatening rain—or maybe snow. I didn’t have a plan, just a need to escape, to breathe.

I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to tell him everything I’ve been hiding for so long. But I can’t.

Because now, it’s too late.

Now, he’s a stranger to me. And I’m a stranger to him. We’ve both become something else, something broken, something beyond repair. But the worst part is that I still want him. Still need him. I still want to be the girl who laughed with him in the ice rink, who let him heal her throbbing ribs.

But I can’t.

The distance between us is too wide now. The years too many. And all I’m left with is this aching, gut-wrenching regret, wishing I could go back to that first time—when everything was simple, when he was just the boy who held my hands and made me feel like I was worth something.

But I can’t. And now, I’ll never be able to.

Chris doesn’t know how much it hurts, how much I still care, how much I wish I could go back to the beginning.

And maybe that’s the cruelest part of all.

I rounded the corner of the school, hoping to find a quiet place to gather myself, as if on cue my doubts are interrupted when I heard voices. Familiar ones.

“She’s the same, Matt. The exact same,” Chris was saying, his voice low but urgent.

I froze, pressing myself against the brick wall.

“I thought me leaving would make things better. I thought it was my fault she was doing this. That’s why we stayed away. But now…” His voice broke, and my heart clenched.

“Now that you’ve seen her again?” Matt’s voice was softer, cautious.

“Now that I’ve seen her again, I know I have to fix this,” Chris said. “I have to fix her. I love her.”

The words hit me like a freight train, and I couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped my lips.

The boys went silent.

“Did you hear that?” Matt asked.

Chris didn’t respond. I could hear the crunch of gravel underfoot as he stepped closer, and I panicked.

I turned and bolted, my footsteps echoing loudly against the concrete. I didn’t stop until I was halfway down the block, my breath coming in sharp, painful gasps.

I spent the rest of the day walking aimlessly through the city. Boston was cold and unforgiving this time of year, the streets slick with damp leaves, the sky a dull, oppressive gray. I stuffed my hands into my hoodie pocket and kept my head down, avoiding the curious stares of passersby.

Chris’s voice haunted me. I have to fix her. I love her.

It wasn’t the confession I had imagined all those years ago when I first realized how deeply I cared for him. Back then, I’d dreamed of him saying those words with a smile, his arms wrapped around me in some perfect moment where everything finally made sense.

But this? This felt like pity.

Did he think I was broken? Something that needed to be fixed?

The thought sent a fresh wave of anger coursing through me. He didn’t know what I’d been through. He didn’t know how hard it was to keep going some days, to carry the weight of my own mind while pretending to be okay.

But he also didn’t know how much I still loved him.

When I finally made it home, the sun had set, and the house was dark except for the faint glow of the living room lamp. My mom was still gone—her absence a constant, gaping hole in my life—but I barely noticed anymore.

I kicked off my shoes and trudged upstairs to my room, collapsing onto the bed without bothering to turn on the light. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out reluctantly, expecting a spam notification or an overdue assignment reminder.

But it was a text. From Chris.

“I know you heard me today. Please talk to me.”

I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I wanted to reply, to tell him everything I’d been feeling since the moment we met at that rink all those years ago. But instead, I locked my phone and threw it onto the nightstand.

I couldn’t do this. Not yet.

The next morning, I woke to find another text from Chris.

Meet me at the rink tonight. 7 PM.

No explanation, no apology. Just a time and place.

Part of me wanted to ignore it, to keep avoiding him like I had been for years. But another part of me—a part I thought I had buried—wanted to see him.

So at 6:45, I found myself standing outside the rink, my breath visible in the icy air as I stared at the building. It looked smaller than I remembered, its once-bright paint now faded and peeling.

I hesitated, my hand on the door handle. Memories flooded back—Chris’s crooked smile, his warm hands on my bruised ribs, the way he’d made me feel seen for the first time in my life.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open.

"You came," he said, his voice low, almost like a question.

I nodded, my hands buried deep in the pockets of my hoodie. "You didn’t really give me a choice."

He let out a soft chuckle, but there was a tremor in it, a kind of quiet pain. "Fair enough."

For a moment, we stood there in the cold, the silence between us stretching like an old, worn-out thread—thin and fragile, yet somehow holding us together.

"I didn’t leave because I didn’t care," Chris said at last, his voice barely above a whisper. "I left because I thought I was hurting you. I thought… if I stayed, you’d never get better."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I felt my throat tighten as I stared at the scuffed floor beneath my feet. "You don’t understand, Chris. It wasn’t you. It was me."

His eyes pleaded with me, and for the first time, I saw the rawness of his hurt. "Then help me understand," he said, his voice cracking. "I can’t stand this. I can’t stand seeing you like this, knowing I might have made it worse."

A wave of emotion rose up in me, tears stinging at the corners of my eyes. I fought them back, refusing to let them fall. "You didn’t make it worse. But leaving... leaving didn’t help either."

He didn’t answer right away, but I could feel the weight of his presence as he stepped closer, closing the distance between us with slow, deliberate steps. When he was close enough, he stopped, his blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that left me breathless.

"I’m here now," he said, his voice steady, but there was an undeniable edge to it. "And I’m not going anywhere this time."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted so badly to trust that the cracks in my heart could finally heal. But the fear—so deep, so rooted in the years of silence between us—held me back. I couldn’t let myself fall again, not like this.

"Why?" The word came out barely above a whisper, fragile and unsure. "Why do you care so much?"

His gaze softened, the pain in his eyes giving way to something gentler. Slowly, as if he was afraid to break the fragile moment, he reached out. His fingers brushed lightly against mine, a touch so simple yet so powerful that it sent a shock of warmth through me.

"Because I love you," he said, the words coming as easily as a breath. "I always have."

Time seemed to stop. The world around us faded into the background, leaving only the sound of my heartbeat, racing and erratic. I didn’t know if I could trust it, but the spark of hope—the one I thought had long since gone out—flickered to life inside me. Just for a moment, I let myself believe in it.

Let myself believe in him.

The air in the rink felt different now—thicker, heavier, charged with a kind of tension I wasn’t sure I could handle. My heart was pounding so loudly in my chest I was sure he could hear it.

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.

Chris took a step closer, his tall frame towering over me, yet somehow he felt small in this moment—vulnerable, waiting for a response. I looked up into his eyes, those piercing blue eyes that had always felt like they could see right through me, and suddenly, I wasn’t afraid.

“You mean it?” I whispered. My voice sounded foreign to me, barely audible over the hum of the overhead lights.

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.”

For a second, I thought about all the years I’d spent trying to push him away, trying to convince myself that I didn’t need him. And now, here he was, standing in front of me, telling me the one thing I’d been too afraid to admit to myself.

I reached out hesitantly, my fingers brushing against his hand. His skin was warm, rough in places from years of hockey and restless habits, but it was familiar. Comforting. He didn’t pull away; instead, his fingers intertwined with mine, his grip firm but gentle.

“You broke my heart when you left,” I admitted, my voice trembling.

His face fell, guilt clouding his features. “I know,” he said. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that. But I’m here now. And if you let me, I’ll spend every day proving that I’m not going anywhere.”

I bit my lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. My walls were crumbling, but I couldn’t stop them this time. Maybe I didn’t want to.

Chris took a step closer, his free hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair out of my face. His touch was soft, like he was afraid I might break.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, unable to find my voice.

“I think I fell for you the first time I saw you sitting on that bench,” he said, his lips curving into a soft smile. “You were so mad at me—well, at Matt—but even then, I couldn’t stop looking at you. And when you pulled my jersey and called me out for something I didn’t even do, I knew you were different.”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, the sound surprising even me. “So, you’re saying you fell for me because I yelled at you?”

“Pretty much,” he said, his grin widening. “You were fearless. And kind. And even though you had every reason to hate me—or at least Matt—you still let me help you.”

I felt my cheeks flush, and I looked away, but Chris gently tilted my chin back toward him. “Don’t hide from me,” he said softly.

Butterflies erupted in my stomach at the way he was looking at me—like I was the only person in the world who mattered.

“Chris…” I started, but he cut me off.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said quickly. “Not yet. I just wanted you to know how I feel. And if you’re not ready, that’s okay. I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost too much to bear. For the first time in years, I felt a flicker of something I thought I’d lost forever: hope.

I tightened my grip on his hand, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” I admitted, my voice shaking. “But I want to try.”

Chris’s face lit up, his smile so bright it felt like it could melt the ice beneath us. “That’s all I need to hear,” he said.

He stepped closer, his arms wrapping around me in a hug that felt like coming home. His embrace was warm, solid, safe, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself lean into it.

“I missed you,” I whispered against his chest.

“I missed you too,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “More than you’ll ever know.”

We stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms as the world outside the rink faded away. For the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe.

And for the first time in years, I felt like maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t so alone after all.

A/N: Hello, lovlies! I just want to take a moment to thank you for making it this far—I truly appreciate you. This fic is incredibly close to my heart, especially because it touches on the topic of eating disorders, which often doesn’t get enough attention. I wanted to create a space where vulnerability, especially in love interests, can be explored openly. It’s so important that we see these deeper, more complex sides of each other in stories, and I hope it resonates with you all as much as it does with me.

If you or someone you care about is struggling with anorexia, please reach out to the helpline at [National Eating Disorders Association Helpline: 1-800-931-2237 or text "NEDA" to 741741]. You are not alone, and there is always support available when you need it.

I’m really excited for the chapters to come, and I hope this story gets recognition. Thank you again for your love—it truly means everything to me.

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strangevynl · 22 days ago

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NOTICE | k.sm x reader

nerdyboycrush!seungmin x bsf!reader

warnings: eating disorders | anorexia | angst | one sided love.

—————

Seungmin was the epitome of "cool," though not in the traditional sense. He wasn't the jock, nor the rebellious bad boy, but there was something magnetic about him. With his glasses perched perfectly on his nose, messy but somehow deliberate hair, and sharp wit, Seungmin had the rare ability to be both the smartest kid in class and the one everyone wanted to be around. It didn’t hurt that his quiet demeanor gave him an air of mystery that only added to his allure.

Everyone knew Seungmin, and, naturally, everyone had a crush on him. Girls from every corner of the school would flock to him, hoping for his attention. Some flirted, others tried to offer help with his studies, but Seungmin’s eyes—those expressive brown eyes—always seemed to drift toward someone else.

And that someone else was “you.”

You had been best friends with Seungmin since middle school, and somehow, over the years, your friendship had deepened. He was the person you could laugh with, vent to, or simply sit in comfortable silence with. Yet, no matter how long you had known him, no matter how often you walked beside him between classes, he never seemed to see you the way everyone else did. He saw you as his best friend. His "just friend."

Meanwhile, every girl in school—whether it was the popular cheerleader, the shy new transfer student, or the class president—would make it a point to talk to Seungmin. They’d ask him questions about assignments, casually compliment him, or simply drop by his locker to chat. You couldn’t help but notice how his face would light up when they spoke to him. He was always so kind to them, so patient, so *interested.* And no matter how much you told yourself you were happy just being his friend, it stung every single time.

One day, as the two of you sat under the big oak tree in the school courtyard during lunch, a girl from your class—Hannah, who was known for having a sharp eye for cute boys—walked up to Seungmin. She had a flirty smile on her face and, without skipping a beat, leaned over to say something that made Seungmin laugh.

You sat there, pretending not to notice the slight tightening in your chest. You focused on your half-eaten sandwich, not wanting to give away how affected you were. But as you took a bite, you couldn’t help but glance up at Seungmin.

And, of course, his eyes were on her. He was looking at Hannah like she was the only person in the world, his smile widening as she said something else. You could almost hear the unspoken words in his expression, his interest in her so obvious it made your heart ache. For a brief second, his eyes flickered to you, but it was just a glance, a fleeting moment before his attention returned to Hannah.

You looked down at your hands, willing the heat that had rushed to your cheeks to subside. “It’s fine,”you told yourself. “You’re his best friend, and that's enough.”

But deep down, it wasn’t enough.

🎐…..

A week later, you were walking to your next class when you bumped into him in the hallway. Seungmin’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly adjusted his backpack strap, offering you a sheepish smile.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t see you there,” he said, his voice warm and familiar, just like it always was.

You managed a tight smile, trying to act like you weren’t just thinking about his constant attention toward other girls. “Hey,” you replied, glancing up at him.

“Hey, are you alright? You look a little… distracted,” he said, his brow furrowing in concern. You could tell he was genuine, but you also knew he didn’t understand what you were feeling. He never did.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said quickly, shaking it off. “Just… thinking about stuff. You know how it is.”

Seungmin nodded, oblivious to the weight of the unspoken words between you. "Right, right. So, I was wondering if you wanted to study together later? I’m trying to get ahead in physics. I know you’re like, the best at it.”

You hesitated. The offer made your chest swell with warmth because, for a moment, it felt like you weren’t just his "friend"—you were something more. “But am I?”you thought, shaking the doubt out of your head.

"Yeah, that sounds good," you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions in your chest. "I’ll meet you at your place after school.

As Seungmin gave you one of his genuine, effortless smiles, you tried to ignore the ache inside. You were his best friend, and you’d always be there for him. But sometimes, just sometimes, you wished that the way he looked at you could be the same way he looked at everyone else.

The study session later that day was almost painfully normal. You sat next to Seungmin at his desk, working through problems in physics like you always did. But this time, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his eyes lit up whenever another girl walked into the room. His smile was easy, effortless. His attention was easy to earn, if you were a little more than just a friend.

By the end of the session, as you packed up your things, you felt a knot in your stomach. Seungmin didn’t notice, of course. He never did. He was too busy asking if you wanted to grab a snack or if you were free for a movie on the weekend.

But as he smiled at you, a little too wide this time, a quiet voice whispered in your heart: “Maybe this time, he’ll see you differently. Maybe, just maybe, one day, he will.”

But until then, you’d be right by his side, even if he couldn’t see the feelings you kept hidden behind the smile.

🎐….

Days turned into weeks, and your growing distance from Seungmin became more apparent, even to you. You didn’t spend as much time with him after school, no more study sessions or spontaneous trips to the convenience store. He tried to reach out a few times, but you brushed him off with excuses. “I’m tired,” you’d say. “I have a lot of homework.” It wasn’t like you were lying; it was just that the homework had become the perfect excuse to hide from him, to hide from everything.

You felt safer alone in your room, away from the world that reminded you of everything you weren’t.

The weight loss continued, and soon your clothes hung loosely from your frame, the reflection in the mirror becoming harder and harder to recognize. Your ribs were more pronounced now, your arms thinner, your face sharper. For a fleeting moment, you thought you might actually be happy with the changes. Maybe if you could just get thinner, *prettier,* then maybe—just maybe—someone like Seungmin would finally look at you the way you’d always hoped.

But deep down, you knew the truth. It wasn’t just about your body it was about the part of you that had been slowly fading away, trying to fit into a mold you were never meant to. You’d been chasing something you’d never get, and each pound you lost felt like a part of your soul slipping away with it.

🎐….

One afternoon, while sitting alone at lunch in the library, you heard footsteps approaching. Your heart sank when you looked up and saw Seungmin standing there, his gaze soft but filled with something you couldn’t quite place. You hadn’t seen him in a while, and he seemed different somehow—distant, like he wasn’t sure how to approach you anymore.

“Hey,” he said, his voice tentative. “Mind if I sit with you?”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to smile. “Of course.” It was a hollow gesture, though, and you both knew it.

Seungmin slid into the seat across from you, setting his lunch tray down with a small clink. He didn’t start eating right away. Instead, he just looked at you, his eyes tracing your face in a way that made you uncomfortable.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he said, his tone neutral, but there was a tightness around his jaw. “I know I haven’t been the best at… well, understanding, but I thought we were still friends. I thought we could talk about anything.”

You didn’t know how to respond. The words that had been boiling inside you for weeks were stuck in your throat, the anger and hurt mixing with a deep sadness you didn’t know how to explain. You wanted to shout at him, tell him how much his rejection had destroyed you, how much it still hurt every time he laughed with another girl, how much you wished you could just be someone he could care for the way you cared for him.

But instead, you just stared at him, your fingers fidgeting with the corner of your book.

“I’m fine, Seungmin,” you said, repeating the lie you’d been telling yourself for months. “I’ve just been… busy.”

He frowned, leaning in slightly. “I don’t believe you,” he said softly. “You’re not fine. I can tell.”

You could feel the heat rise in your face, a mixture of guilt and frustration. You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to mind his own business. But you couldn’t. You just couldn’t.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you said quickly, the words rushed, almost pleading.

Seungmin looked at you for a long moment, his eyes searching your face. You could see the concern in them, but you couldn’t bear to face it. The last thing you wanted was for him to pity you.

“I’m worried about you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve changed. And I don’t think it’s just because of school.”

You froze. There was no way he could know. He couldn’t know the lengths you’d gone to in order to change yourself, to try and fit into some version of “perfect”that you knew wasn’t even real.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, this time your voice firmer, even though your heart was breaking. “Just leave it alone, Seungmin. Please.”

His expression softened, but there was still a flicker of something behind his eyes—something that you couldn’t decipher. “I’m not going to leave it alone,” he said, his voice more determined now. “I’m your friend. And I’m here, okay? Whether you want to talk about it or not.”

For a second, you almost wanted to tell him everything—how you’d felt so invisible for so long, how his rejection had torn you apart, how you’d convinced yourself that losing weight, changing who you were, would somehow make him see you. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to show him the broken pieces of you that you were desperately trying to hide.

Instead, you just looked away, trying to keep the tears that threatened to spill under control.

“I don’t need your help,” you said quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Seungmin’s eyes widened slightly, as if your words had stung more than you realized. “You don’t need my help?” he repeated, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t need anyone?”

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your shaking hands. “No. I don’t. I’m fine.”

There was a long silence. Seungmin seemed to search your face, as if waiting for you to say something more, to open up to him. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

“I’ll leave you alone, then,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “But just know, I’m here. Whenever you want to talk.”

And with that, he stood up, his tray untouched, and walked away. You watched him go, your chest tight with a mixture of relief and guilt.

But as the door to the library closed behind him, a cold, heavy emptiness settled over you. For a moment, you thought about calling out to him, about telling him everything. But you couldn’t. The distance between you had grown too wide. You’d built up too many walls.

And no matter how much you wanted him to see you, to see the real you, you couldn’t tear down the ones you’d put up, not now.

---

The weeks dragged on. Your weight continued to drop, and while you were more withdrawn, you started to notice people around you especially Seungmin looking at you differently. Some of the girls who used to talk to him started whispering, glancing at you with something that resembled envy.

But you didn’t care about them. You didn’t care about anyone except Seungmin. You had spent so long wishing to be someone who could be noticed, someone who was worthy of his attention. But even now, when you had finally become someone different, it still wasn’t enough.

And deep down, you knew something even more painful than that: He might never look at you the way you wanted him to. But the hardest part was realizing that you might never look at yourself the way you wanted to either.

——

That night, you found yourself sitting at a study table, surrounded by half-open notebooks and the faint buzz of other students working in the background. But your mind wasn’t on the textbooks in front of you. It was on him—Seungmin.

Yes, you were back at his place after he requested you to study with him. you can never seem to restrain yourself when he asks you for something it was always one of his charms, his round boba eyes looking at you pleading beside the lockers for you to study for the exam with which ended up with the both of you here. Studying like the old times

You had tried so hard to push those feelings away, bury them deep, pretend you were fine, but every time you saw him—every time he smiled at you or talked to you like nothing had changed—it became harder to ignore. It wasn’t the rejection that had hurt the most. It was the fact that it felt like he only saw you as his best friend. Just a friend.

You stared down at your notebook, the words blurring together, your hand shaking slightly as you tried to focus on your notes. You couldn't anymore.

The words bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of you, and before you could stop them, you turned to Seungmin, who was sitting across from you, tapping away on his phone. His usual easygoing expression was there, but tonight, you could barely look at him without feeling the weight of everything you had been holding back.

"Seungmin…" Your voice trembled, and you hated how fragile it sounded. He looked up, sensing the change in tone, his brow furrowing in concern.

"Yeah?" His eyes softened, and in that moment, he looked so oblivious to the storm swirling inside you.

You couldn’t do it anymore. "You have no idea, do you? How much this… all of this has affected me."

He blinked, clearly confused. "What are you talking about?"

You inhaled sharply, your chest tightening as frustration and pain flooded through you. You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care about holding it in or pretending you were fine. "When you rejected me, Seungmin… it crushed me. You said you liked me, but not that way, and it’s like you’ve been treating me like nothing changed, but everything changed! I didn’t just get over it! I couldnt”

Seungmin’s face went still, and for the first time, you saw something flicker in his eyes—something like guilt. But it was too late for that. You had to keep going, or you’d never find the closure you needed.

"I lost so much weight after that. You know that, right? I thought if I changed how I looked, maybe I’d be good enough for you. Maybe you’d see me differently. But no matter what I did, it didn’t matter, because you’ll always just see me as your friend! I was so stupid to think you could feel the same way about me. I was just a friend, and that’s it. I wasn’t even enough to make you see me as “more."

You felt the words hit the air like a slap, the raw emotion in your voice a stark contrast to how carefully you’d kept it buried for so long. The room felt heavy, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you’d said too much.

Seungmin was quiet. Too quiet. You dared a glance at him, only to see his face twisted in an expression that was too hard to read.

"You…" His voice cracked, and he looked down at his hands, his fingers pressing into the paper on the desk. "I didn’t know… you really felt that way. I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you, you know that, right?"

Your heart hurt hearing him apologize, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was too late. “I know you didn’t mean to,” you said softly, shaking your head. “But you still did. And it changed everything.”

The silence stretched between you two, thick with all the unsaid things. You watched Seungmin, who was struggling with his words, looking at you like he didn’t know how to fix this, because maybe, in some twisted way, he couldn’t.

"I never wanted to make you feel like you weren’t enough," he said quietly, his voice sincere, but it still felt distant. "I… I just never saw you the way you wanted me to. I see you as my best friend. That’s all I can see."

Those words—those exact words—were the ones you had dreaded hearing from the moment you’d confessed. You had known it all along, deep down, but hearing it from his lips, right in front of you, was still a punch to the gut.

"Yeah," you whispered, blinking back the tears threatening to spill over. "I know."

The realization hit you hard. He would never look at you the way you wanted him to. No matter how much you changed, no matter how hard you tried, he would always just see you as his friend. And somewhere inside, you knew that was the part you had to let go of.

Seungmin looked like he wanted to say more, but you couldn’t let him. You had already said everything you needed to say. And as painful as it was, you felt like a weight had been lifted—finally, the truth was out.

Without another word, you stood up from the table, your hands shaking as you gathered your things. Seungmin called your name as you walked away, but you didn’t turn back. You couldn’t.

It was time to stop pretending. Time to stop chasing someone who would never see you the way you wanted to be seen. Time to start moving on, even if it meant leaving a piece of your heart behind.

🏷️: none yet!

#skz angst #stray kids angst #stray kids ff #skz fluff #seungmin angst #skz smut #stray kids hard hours #stray kids smut #seungmin x reader #skz angst seungmin #kim seungmin smut #skz drabbles #skz au #skz fic #skz soft hours #skz hard hours #skz soft thoughts

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ed-recoverry · 9 days ago

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Some free mental health/illness books to look at!

We love internet archive here

The Myth Of Normal

Organizing Solutions for People With Attention Deficit Disorder

Dying to please : anorexia, treatment and recovery

Self harm : the path to recovery

Dealing with depression : understanding and overcoming the symptoms of depression

The post-traumatic stress disorder sourcebook : a guide to healing, recovery, and growth

Borderline personality disorder demystified : an essential guide for understanding and living with BPD

Am I still visible? : a woman's triumph over anorexia nervosa

Back to life, back to normality : cognitive therapy, recovery, and psychosis

Panic attacks workbook : a guided program for beating the panic trick

The autistic brain : thinking across the spectrum

The addiction recovery skills workbook : changing addictive behaviors using CBT, mindfulness, and motivational interviewing techniques

The bipolar workbook : tools for controlling your mood swings

The anxiety & phobia workbook

Reclaiming yourself from binge eating : a step-by-step guide to healing

Your guide to schizophrenia

Overcoming social anxiety and shyness : a self-help guide using cognitive behavioral techniques

DBT Skills Training Manual: Handouts And Worksheets

Bipolar 101 : a practical guide to identifying triggers, managing medications, coping with symptoms, and more

49 tips and insights for understanding addiction

Understanding paranoia : what causes it, how it feels and what to do about it

The beginner's guide to eating disorders recovery

Paths to recovery : Alcoholic Anon's steps, traditions, and concepts

Psychosis : understanding and treatment

Skinny boy : a young man's battle and triumph over anorexia

The borderline personality disorder survival guide : everything you need to know about living with BPD

Recovery of your inner child

Living well on the spectrum : how to use your strengths to meet the challenges

Everyday mindfulness for OCD : tips, tricks & skills for living joyfully

Living with bipolar disorder : a guide for individuals and families

Coping with schizophrenia

Loosening the grip : a handbook of alcohol information

Don't feed the monkey mind : how to stop the cycle of anxiety, fear & worry

Coping with BPD : DBT and CBT skills to soothe the symptoms of borderline personality disorder

Understanding body dysmorphic disorder : an essential guide

How to deal with OCD

Dying of embarrassment : help for social anxiety & phobia

The Body Image Workbook For Girl Teens

Overcoming depression

Trichotillomania, skin picking, and other body-focused repetitive behaviors

Depression : what is it? : what to do?

Voices in Psychosis - Interdisciplinary Perspectives

The brain over binge recovery guide : a simple and personalized plan for ending bulimia and binge eating disorder

The ADHD advantage : what you thought was a diagnosis may be your greatest strength

How to survive your bipolar brain (and stay functional)

The Borderline Personality Disorder Workbook An Integrative Program To Understand And Manage Your BPD

Autistic Community And The Neurodiversity Movement

Taking charge of adult ADHD

Obsessive-compulsive disorders : a complete guide to getting well and staying well

Explaining depression

Bipolar disorder : a guide for patients and families

The cognitive behavioral workbook for depression : a step-by-step program

Overcoming worry and generalised anxiety disorder : a self-help guide using cognitive behavioral techniques

Insight into self harm

Get me out of here : my recovery from borderline personality disorder

Returning to happiness-- : Overcoming depression with your body, mind, and spirit

Food : the good girl's drug : how to stop using food to control your feelings

The autistic spectrum : characteristics, causes, and practical issues

Coping with an abusive relationship

Overcome depression

An introduction to coping with eating disorders

Feeling good : the new mood therapy

Driven To Distraction, Recognizing and Coping with Attention Deficit Disorder from Childhood through Adulthood

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dreamyvill · 9 days ago

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3.46k words

A seemingly disappointing birthday turns into a little getaway for Maryn after she wins miss world and who better to spend it with than Aaron. Masterlist

This contains mentions depictions of staying at a poor mental health facility and nothing else to heavy, I want to speed up Maryn and Mabel’s journey to really get to Aaron and Maryns love story… so bear with me please.

Timeline Maryns met Aaron at the gala in Feb, it’s now May. This chapter takes place over the weekend. The dinner is Sat and the kiss happens on sun.

ꨄ

Here I was, once again, on the stage that started it all. Well, not the exact same stage, but the sash around me felt just as heavy, the fabric the same. Only the words were different now. The girls standing beside me were new faces, but their whispers and side glances—their shit-talking—felt eerily familiar. The lights burned as hot as I remembered, searing into my skin like they were part of the ritual. I was such an idiot for thinking it would ever be over. In the pageant world, you can’t just win and stop.

You start with the baby contests, then you move to junior competitions, and eventually, you make it to the big leagues. Beautiful girls from every corner of life—nepo babies with their air of entitlement, and girls who, like me, clawed their way up from nothing. Some girls used pills to coke, tapeworms to anorexia, anything to stay on top. To win Modeling contracts, movie roles, music deals—whatever the prize, you gave up pieces of yourself to get it.

I’d jumped through every hoop. I’d sashayed and smiled before the judges, even Marlon Beck. He was all too eager to forgive my past "mistakes" and save my ass with Mabel, of course—for a price. Nothing in this world comes without a price. And the more you want, the stranger the currency.

Back to where the sterile air reeked of bleach, All the monotone voices with their passive smiles—smiles faker than mine.

“I just want to help you,” the counselor would say, her words syrupy with insincerity. “They’re worried about you.”

Lies. Every word ignited something deep inside me, but I swallowed the flames, knowing that speaking out would only make it worse. Her notepad, its yellow pages already scrawled with lies, sat perched in her lap like a loaded weapon. The scratching sound of the rubber pen with a dull tip as I signed my name. Over and over bored out of my mind.

Then there was the medicine—the taunting voices it silenced in my head were replaced by a heavier, darker fog. The pills weighed on my brain, turning it into thick, heavy soil where no clarity could grow.

I’d give anything to never go back to that place.

“You have less than a minute to answer, Ms. United States of America. The question is: Is this your dream?” The pretty woman read from the prompter, glancing at the countdown timer projected on the wall.

No. Hell no. This was nothing like it should’ve been the farthest thing from what I deserved, what I had earned. That was what I wanted to say, but my game face held steady. I smiled with practiced poise and delivered the winning answer, the words flowing like honey, sweet and insincere.

The applause roared around me as I walked back to my place, standing beside Ms. Canada. My hands clutched the folds of my gown, my heart pounding beneath my chest. This wasn’t my dream. But on this stage, under these lights, it had to be.

The real beating came backstage. Everyone else may have been satisfied with my performance, but Mabel wouldn’t be. I could feel it in the air, her eyes on me, like she was waiting for me to slip up. Ricardo had saved my ass those few weeks ago, but I knew it couldn’t be him again. It was either me or him, and I couldn’t keep being selfish. It hurt, but I couldn’t let him suffer for me.

Ricky had been Mabel’s godson since he was born. His family had money, so did Mabel. They were close, grew up together, and when Ricky’s mother, Honey, caught his eye, I could see the anger in Mabel. Honey had something she’d wanted for decades, but she settled and played her role.

When Ricky was born, Mabel was his emergency contact, and after James and Honey died, it was all hers—Ricky and the money. Everything went into her hands, including the memories. She could’ve kept the photos, the videos, the moments of a life she didn’t care about, but she burned them. What remained was just the money, and she held it like a prize. That’s all she cared about, that’s all she ever would.

I could feel my body start to betray me. I hadn’t eaten all day, and the emptiness in my stomach was becoming a black hole. My vision blurred, spinning, as I stumbled backstage, dizziness taking over. The world felt too heavy.

"Ricky, where is my lancet? I think I need sugar," I murmured, barely able to catch my breath.

"Where did you pack it?" Ricky’s voice, frantic, cut through the haze, searching for it.

I felt my body slump. “I—. She didn’t pack it. I did.” Mabel said cutting me off standing against the door like a lion about to pounce. “Just like I do everything around here. And for that fat, ditzy bitch to embarrass me like that, and then stuff herself with sweets. Ha. No. I don’t think so."

Mabel sneered and shoved it into her pocket. She didn’t even care that I could go into shock. I had diabetes since I was 15 years old.

I leaned back into the couch, my head swimming, when she grabbed my face with sharp, cold hands. Her nails dug into my skin, her fingers like vices. She twisted, pushing in my jaw, and I could feel the scrape of her nails along my neck. It hurt. It hurt more than I could handle, but I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t give her the satisfaction. Not now.

I hissed, trying to blink the pain away, but the tears formed, and I could feel them threatening to fall. The last thing I needed was to cry. I needed to be strong, even though the strength was slipping away with each second.

“You have the audacity to cry when you’re the one who slapped me in the face?” Mabel spat, her voice like acid. She jerked my head roughly to the right, tilting it painfully, forcing me to look at her. My chest tightened. The cold, judgmental light above us made everything feel so sterile, so clinical. Like I wasn’t a person, just something to punish.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, my voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to... really... the medicine....” I swallowed hard, hoping my words would make sense, hoping they would lessen the wrath that was building inside her.

She cut me off with a sharp, cruel laugh. “No. It didn’t.”

I froze. The small, weak part of me that had hoped for some kind of mercy, some kind of understanding, crumbled. I whimpered like a child being told no for the first time, and all I could do was stare at her, helpless.

She stormed out, slamming the door behind her, leaving me there on the couch, heart pounding, chest tight with fear. Alone.

“Ssh, it’s okay. Here,” Ricky’s voice was a lifeline, soft and calming. I didn’t deserve it, but he was there, kneeling beside me, pulling a ziplock bag of my favorite candies from his pocket. I didn’t feel like I could move. I felt paralyzed, the weight of everything pressing down on me. Every part of me just wanted to escape. I didn’t want to feel anymore.

Ricky fed me a piece of candy, his hand gentle, guiding it to my lips. I let myself take it, even though I didn’t want to. His actions felt like the only thing keeping me tethered to reality, even though part of me wished I could just let go.

The weariness washed over me, pulling at my limbs like I was being swallowed whole. My head rested back, and the harsh, cold air stung my skin for a second before Ricky put his hoodie around me, the warmth of it wrapping me in a fleeting comfort.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his thick Dominican accent brushing against my ears.

“It’s okay” was all I could say before sleep took over, drowning everything else out.

But as I drifted off, my thoughts spiraled. What was I doing? How had it come to this? I had no control, not anymore. Mabel had me trapped in a cage of her making, and all I could do was survive it. I wasn’t strong enough for anything else, and maybe not even that.

Eventually, I got up, the sun outside dimming as it faded into a golden-orange hue, casting long shadows across the room. I sat on my pink silk sheets, my eyes trailing aimlessly around my space. There was a heaviness in my chest I couldn’t shake, but I pushed it aside. Despite everything, I couldn’t deny the small spark of satisfaction I felt in the plumpness of my lips and the way my lashes framed my eyes. Little things, but they made me feel... okay. Maybe even pretty.

I stretched my arms toward the ceiling, letting out a yawn that ended in a deep sigh. There was no avoiding it—I had a job to do tonight. My task was simple enough: look my prettiest and flatter Marlon Beck until his ego inflated like a balloon. The thought made me cringe, but I couldn’t afford not to.

The warm embrace of a hot bath called to me, and I answered, stepping into the steamy water I’d filled with Epsom salts and a frothy bubble bath. The lavender scent wrapped itself around me as I lowered into the tub, letting the heat ease the tension in my body. My head rested against the cool porcelain edge of the clawfoot tub, my eyes fluttering closed.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to exist.

Birthdays used to mean something. Now, for the last five years, they’d been nothing but a source of sadness—a reminder of what I’d lost. The edges of those dark thoughts crept in, like unwelcome guests at the door of my mind, threatening to pull me under. But no. Not this time. I was tired of being sad.

And then I heard it: a small, familiar voice, soft at first but growing louder.

“Whose birthday is it?” Mama asked, her tone warm and full of love.

The memory unfolded like a movie reel. I saw myself as a little girl, standing beside her. My store-bought Princess Tiana dress had deep creases from being folded too long in its plastic bag, but I didn’t care. The matching plastic heels clicked and clacked as I jumped up and down, the plastic strap with Tiana’s smiling face barely keeping my feet in place.

“It’s my birthday, Mama!” little me chirped, her voice high-pitched and brimming with excitement.

“And how old are you?” she asked, her smile so wide it could’ve lit up the room.

The kitchen had been transformed. The cluttered counters and table had been replaced by a large white folding table, its front draped with a “Happy Birthday” banner that sagged slightly in the middle, with presents littered everywhere.

“I’m 10!” I exclaimed, my grin nearly splitting my face.

“Ten years old,” Mama said, clapping her hands together. “Let’s all sing happy birthday!”

The memory swelled. My older cousin walked in carrying a cake, and the smile on my face grew impossibly wider. They set the cake down on the table, and the familiar birthday tune began.

“How old are you?” they sang, their voices overlapping.

“10!” I shouted, my voice bursting with pride.

“How old are you?” they repeated, louder this time.

“10!” I screamed again, puffing my chest out like it made me bigger.

The song ended, and I leaned over to blow out the candles. The sound of cheers and laughter filled the air as the candles went out, replaced by the smell of melting wax and sweet frosting.

The memory faded, leaving me sitting in the tub with a bittersweet ache in my chest. That little girl—the one jumping up and down, her plastic heels clicking, her heart full of pure, untainted joy—I was so jealous of her. I wanted to be her again. I wanted to feel that kind of happiness again.

Maybe... maybe that started with a choice. A choice to fight.

I sat up, the water rippling around me as I scrubbed myself clean. When I was done, I dried off and coated myself in lotion and perfume, determined to put the memory to good use.

The familiar sound of knobs turning and a door clicking open pulled me from my thoughts. I sat at my vanity, wrapped in a soft robe, my cluttered makeup station lit by the warm glow of the bulbs around the mirror. I scrolled through my phone, searching for outfit inspiration.

“Maria, are you decent?” Ricky’s voice called out my middle name from the hallway. He pushed the door open a crack, his hand covering his eyes.

“Why’d you come in if you thought I wasn’t dressed, perv?” I teased, a small smirk tugging at my lips.

Ricky rolled his eyes, clicking his teeth. “Happy 25th birthday!” he said, stepping inside with a pink gift box in one hand and a small cake in the other. He pulled a tiny confetti popper from his pocket and let it off with a grin.

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of me as I rushed to hug him. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice softer than I intended.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning me over to the bed. He placed the pink box in front of me and opened it to reveal a heart-shaped mini cake.

“Your favorite,” he said proudly. “Red velvet. And I made sure to tell them you like it dense.”

He began singing “Happy Birthday,” his deep voice filling the room. When the song ended, he sat beside me, waiting expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to eat your cake?” he asked. “It’s your favorite.”

I hesitated, glancing at the cake before shaking my head. “I can’t,” I said, standing to adjust my robe. “I’ll get bigger.”

Ricky frowned. “Maria, you’re barely a hundred pounds soaking wet. A slice of cake isn’t going to change that.” He picked up the knife and cut a piece, holding it out to me. “Forget what Mabel says. It’s your day, and she won’t even be back for another two weeks.”

I crossed my arms. “But she left prepped meals. She’s going to know if I don’t eat them. She’ll notice if I gain weight.”

Ricky’s jaw tightened. “Let me deal with Mabel,” he said, his tone firm. “She doesn’t need to know everything.”

“She always finds out,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “She told me I’d be nothing more than an addict. Do you think she’s right?”

Ricky crouched in front of me, his eyes searching mine for an answer. “No. Of course not. You’ve been sober for six months, Ricky. You’re doing amazing.”

“She doesn’t have power over me anymore,” he continued. “She only did because of the drugs. But I’m free now. I found my brother, and he has pictures, videos—proof of everything. I’m going to settle this. She won’t be able to hurt us anymore.”

He kissed my forehead, lingering for just a moment, before walking out.

Could I finally be free?

The restaurant was cloaked in an air of quiet sophistication, the kind of place where the conversations were low, the laughter subdued, and the clink of cutlery against fine china almost hypnotic. The ambiance was steeped in luxury, the dark wooden walls polished to a gleam, their antique charm complemented by ornate golden inlays. Everything here seemed timeless, as if the room itself was frozen in a moment meant to impress.

I sat a few feet away from the balcony’s intricate wrought-iron banister, the design curling like ivy vines, each detail catching the faint light of the crystal chandelier hanging above. The chandelier was massive, the kind of centerpiece that drew your eye even when you didn’t want to look. Its crystals refracted soft greens and yellows, casting an ethereal glow over the glass shelving lining the walls. The shelves were filled with gleaming bottles that sparkled like jewels, their liquid contents shimmering in the chandelier’s light.

My chair was a deep maroon, upholstered in velvet so soft it felt like sinking into a cloud. Golden details were woven into the armrests and back, their intricate patterns catching the light with every slight shift. I tried to let the elegance of my surroundings distract me, to lose myself in the hushed murmur of conversations coming from the floor below. There, couples and groups sat in matching maroon chairs at circular tables draped in crisp white tablecloths. The flicker of candlelight played across their faces as they laughed and sipped wine, their plates piled with food that looked almost too beautiful to eat.

But none of it could keep my mind from wandering. I checked my watch again, the time staring back at me like a cruel joke. Marlon was an hour late. An hour. The realization settled heavily in my chest, making my heart ache in that dull, familiar way.

He had forced me into this date, had insisted with that charming, condescending smile of his that I clear my schedule. And now he had the audacity—the gaul—to stand me up.

The soft hum of the restaurant couldn’t drown out my spiraling thoughts. My gaze drifted to the empty seat across from me, its maroon upholstery mocking me. A lump formed in my throat, hot and humiliating.

If even Marlon Beck—someone who’d sleep with just about anyone—didn’t want me, what did that say about me?

The question clung to me like a wet cloak, its weight dragging me further into the darkness. It wasn’t just about this date or him not showing up; it was about everything. Every rejection, every misstep, every time I had felt like I wasn’t enough. The restaurant seemed to grow quieter, the glow of the chandelier dimming in my mind as my thoughts consumed me.

I was sinking into that familiar pit when a soft voice broke through.

“Ma’am, could I get you anything?”

The waitress’s voice startled me, pulling me back to the present. I blinked up at her, her kind eyes framed by dark lashes, her expression gentle but professional.

I straightened in my chair, trying to shake the heaviness off me, if only for a moment. “Um…” I hesitated, my thoughts catching up to my surroundings. My mind flitted back to the menu I had studied earlier.

“I’ll have the six-ounce filet mignon, medium rare, with the white veggie rice,” I finally said, my voice steadier than I expected.

She nodded, her smile softening the edges of my embarrassment as she leaned forward to pour water into my glass.

As she walked away, I sank back into the maroon chair, the plush velvet cradling me. I looked down at my watch again, though I already knew what it would say. Marlon wasn’t coming.

The flickering light of the chandelier caught my eye again, the greens and yellows reflecting faintly on the golden inlays of the banister. Somewhere below, a burst of laughter erupted from one of the tables, sharp and bright. It made me smile.

I reached for my water glass and took a slow sip, letting the cool liquid slide down my throat. My thoughts felt heavier now, like stones stacking one on top of the other. Still, a small part of me wanted to believe this didn’t mean anything. That it wasn’t about me. But that part was small, and tonight, it felt impossibly far away.

The restaurant’s quiet hum wrapped around me, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside my chest. I kept my gaze fixed on the chandelier above, the delicate greens and yellows refracting off the crystal, as if willing the sight to distract me from the empty seat across the table. But it didn’t. I traced my finger along the edge of the white tablecloth, a nervous habit that felt more pathetic with each passing second.

Marlon wasn’t coming.

I let out a soft sigh, trying to push the hurt down. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. If I let myself wallow, I’d only fall deeper into that pit I’d been clawing my way out of for years. Instead, I reached for my water, taking another sip as I focused on the faint ripple in the glass.

And then, I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye.

A tall figure stepped into the dining area, scanning the tables. His warm brown eyes landed on me, and his face broke into a relieved smile. Aaron.

“Aaron?” I said aloud before I could stop myself, my voice tinged with surprise.

“Hey, Maryn,” he greeted, his tone soft and unassuming as always. He hesitated for a moment, his hand gripping the back of the chair across from me. “Is this seat taken?”

I blinked, glancing at the empty chair Marlon was supposed to fill.

A pang of disappointment surged through me, but I pushed it aside. “No, go ahead,” I said, offering him a small smile.

Aaron sat down, his movements careful, as if he didn’t want to disturb the fragile air around us. He adjusted his jacket and looked at me with a sheepish grin. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight.”

“Same,” I replied, watching him closely. Aaron had always been... different. Steady. Kind in a way that didn’t demand attention but lingered in the little things he did.

“I, uh, saw you sitting here alone,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, “and I thought maybe you could use some company. If that’s okay?”

I hesitated for a fraction of a second, my mind briefly flickering back to Marlon and the sting of rejection. But then I looked at Aaron’s earnest face, and something in me softened. “Of course it’s okay,” I said, my smile growing a little wider.

The waitress returned just then, her eyes flicking between the two of us before settling on me. “Would you like me to add anything to your order?”

Aaron looked at me questioningly, but I waved him off. “I already ordered. But Aaron, you should get something.”

He glanced at the menu, quickly scanning it before nodding. “I’ll have the vodka pasta please,” he said before handing the menu back to the waitress.

As she walked away, Aaron turned his attention fully to me. “So, what brings you here tonight? Fancy dinner for one?”

His teasing tone was gentle, but it still made my cheeks warm. I shrugged, “It was supposed to be something like a date I guess but it’s also my birthday.” I said

His eyes lit up and he gave me a toothy grin raising his eyebrows. “ May 29th you’re a fellow Gemini!” He pointed out making me scrunch my face playfully.

“Oh don’t tell me you’re one of those people.” I said with a blissful laugh.

“No- no I’m not that into it like those people who blame everything on mercury.” He belled laughing with me. The night went on a turned into an amazing evening.

Somehow we ended up on the streets of the city having a great time walking on the dark empty beach, talking, having non stop smiles of pure joy on our faces.

“How do you think people will react to this.” His accent flushing my moonlit skin.

“I don’t care I having fun!” I said I haven’t felt this good in a very long time. “I love them but forget the people who’ll care. It’s weird because I’m a public figure and all but people are just way too invested.” I drew out the brandy I had clearly speaking in innards.

“Yeah we need to get you some water.” He said making me burst into laughter I looked to my left where we were sitting in the sand.

His eyes even prettier in the dark this glistening skin smelling thick and rich. He sat next to me in a dark button up and dark slacks the sleeves rolled up showcasing the lion tattoo on his forearm. I could already tell he knew what I was laughing at.

“Can I? please.” I begged as he rolled his eyes at me before nodding his head.

“Wha-uh!” I exaggerated going into another fit of laughter.

“Alright Ms.Queen let’s get you home.”

I woke to the faint aroma of coffee and the soft hum of a bird outside the window. For a moment, I wasn’t sure where I was. The ceiling above me wasn’t mine, nor was the slightly lumpy cushion beneath my head. My jacket was balled up beneath me, stiff and uncomfortable. Then it hit me. Maryn’s place. Turning over to my left reaching out for Maryn only to feel the coldness of where I layed her down.

I opened my eyes fully, squinting against the pale morning light that filtered through the curtains. The faint clatter of dishes came from the kitchen, followed by the sound of water running. I didn’t need to see her to know it was her.

Maryn had a presence that lingered, even when she wasn’t in the room.

Turning my head over to the left to see the toiletries shed layed out for me. As well as a t-shit and some basketball shorts.

I hadn’t planned on staying over but after dinner. I just couldn’t bring myself to leave.

Maryn intrigued me in ways I couldn’t quite explain. She had this strength about her, a quiet defiance that masked something softer underneath. She had a lively spirt I could feel.

I saw it in the way she brushed off the sting of the date that didn’t show, pretending it didn’t bother her when I knew it did. And I saw it now, in the way she moved through her space with purpose.

I glanced around again, taking in the details I’d missed last night the colors, little trinkets and cozy blankets she has sprawled in her home and on various things.

The sound of her voice startled me.

"Good morning," she said, poking her head around the corner. Her hair was tousled, and there was a smudge of flour on her cheek. She must’ve been baking something.

"Morning," I replied, my voice raspier than I expected. I cleared my throat and offered a smile. "You’re up early."

She shrugged, leaning against the doorway with a mug in her hands. "Couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d make some tea. Want some?"

"Let’s see if an American can impress me with tea," I said, standing and stretching. Her lips curved into a smirk. "It’s an earl gray I put honey in mine." She said in a decent British accent.

I laughed, following her into the kitchen. The space was small but cozy, with mismatched mugs hanging from hooks and a calendar on the wall, each day marked with tiny scribbles.

She handed me a mug, and I took a sip, the warmth spreading through me. "All right, I’ll give it to you," I admitted. " at least one American knows how to make tea."

Her grin widened, and for a moment, All I could think about was how effortlessly beautiful she looked, standing there in her little kitchen, as if she belonged in a storybook. Her hair big and coily in a quick bun in a cropped large t-shirt and some plaid boys boxers.

I watched her move around, tidying up and humming softly under her breath. There was something grounding about being here with her, something I couldn’t quite put into words.

“Do you eat sausage?” She asked me turning around back to the stove.

“I do darling.” I tried my chances with a nickname as not looking out from her pots but I could tell she was smiling as she said “darling is that just a British thing or are you trying to flirt?” She said in her sweet southern accent

“This is some cheese grits, a biscuit, eggs, sausage, and some chocolate chip pancakes.” She briefed.

“This is a scone.” I said looking at the biscuit.

“No it a delicious biscuit, you wish you had these in London.” She said eyes sparking as she waited for me to take a bite.

As soon as I went to taste it she yelled “wait! Try it all together like make it a sandwich everything but the grits.” She said showing me hers. Doing as she said making my sandwich I dug in and relished in the flavor.

“I know thank you.” She cockily said

The sun was higher now, casting long shadows across Maryn’s living room. I stood by the window, coffee in hand, staring out at the lazy streets of the city. For a moment, I let myself forget that I wasn’t in London anymore. I wasn’t in some quiet corner of the world—no, I was in the whirlwind of Maryn’s life. The world outside wasn’t just any street; it was lined with the ever-present hum of fame, of cameras and eyes that would be watching her every move.

I turned, looking at the glossy kitchen island, the still-warm plates, and remnants of our breakfast. The intimacy of it all felt surreal, almost too normal for two people like us—celebrities who lived their lives under constant scrutiny.

“Hey,” Maryn’s voice cut through my thoughts, and I turned to find her leaning against the doorframe, wearing a comfortable oversized sweater and leggings. She had that soft glow that came from the sun casting on her brown eyes.

Is this how people feel about my eyes?

“Hey,” I replied, giving her a soft smile.

She took a breath, then pushed herself off the doorframe. “Wanna share favorite movies?” She asked me walking over to the couch.

“Yeah I need to show you some real classics.” I told her throwing her head back she let out a laugh before turning to me.

“Yea, okay we’ll see about that.” She said in another accent.

“This one is The color purple and it’s my favorite movie of all time.” She said as she flicked through Hulu putting the movie on.

The movie flickered softly on the screen, its warm glow casting fleeting shadows across the room. Maryn’s knees were tucked under her, the oversized hoodie slipping slightly off her shoulder, revealing soft skin that caught the light in a way that felt almost hypnotic. She smelt like vanilla in an intoxicating way.

I leaned back into the couch, pretending to watch the movie, but my focus kept drifting to her. The way her fingers curled to match Celies “Until you do right by me everything you do will crumble.” She said in sync.

My gaze lingering longer than I meant to. There was something about the way she tilted her head slightly, her everything enticing, making my chest tighten. She must have felt it because she shifted slightly, her movements slow, deliberate.

She turned her head, catching me in the act. Her eyes met mine. For a moment, neither of us said anything. The movie played on, but its sound faded to a distant murmur. It was just her, her eyes searching mine, as though she was trying to figure out what I was thinking, and I didn’t have the words to explain it.

Her lips parted, not to speak but as if she wanted to ask a question she wasn’t sure she should. My heart pounded, the air between us suddenly feeling heavier. She didn’t look away, and neither did I.

Her fingers, which had been idly tracing the blanket, stilled, her hand now just resting there—close but not close enough. Slowly, carefully, I reached out, my fingers brushing against hers. Her skin was soft, warm, and when she didn’t pull away, I let my hand settle over hers.

She didn’t look down at our hands, though. Her focus stayed on me, her eyes wide, I could feel her breath hitch softly, her chest rising and falling in time with mine,I was itching to having her in my hands. Skin to skin, bare with us.

I leaned forward, closing the distance an inch at a time. I could feel her hesitation, not in fear but in wonder, as though she was trying to decide if this was real. Her eyes flickered to my lips, then back to my eyes, and that was all I needed.

When my lips met hers, it was soft, tentative, as though we both wanted to take our time, to let this moment unfold naturally. Her lips moved against mine, slow and searching, and my heart thundered in my chest. Her hand turned under mine, her fingers lacing with mine as she leaned into the kiss, her weight shifting closer, her presence enveloping me.

Time disappeared. The movie became a distant hum, the world around us fading into a blur of muted light and the warmth of her touch. When we broke apart, her breath mingled with mine, the tip of her nose brushing against me as neither of us moved far. Her eyes opened, meeting mine again, and there was something raw and vulnerable in her gaze—something that made my chest tighten all over again.

Feeling the kiss still on my lips, I needed more. Ours heads buoying for a moment, leaning and her soft lips on mine. Breaking apart catching our breath.

“Do you want this?” I asked her my eyes etched on hers.

#dreamy💤wrote this #aaron pierre x reader #maryn and aaron #aaron pierre x black reader #aaron pierre fanfic #aaron pierre x black!oc #aaron pierre #lights off fic

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daughterofapollo-official · 1 month ago

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Leo Valdez Fan theory.

OK, I have two really strong, but really dark head cannons about Leo Valdez.

1) he’s got wrapped up in crimes really really in life

2) he’s anorexic.

First, I want to establish that anorexia isn’t necessarily the need to be as skinny as possible.

Can develop and form at age for multitude of reasons the most popular being: constant needed to lose weight, strong need of control, or self harm/punishment.

I feel like Leo is either need for control or the need for self punishment.

I have a lot of thoughts about this, but in order to do this correctly, I wanted to start with the very first appearance Leo has in the Percy Jackson universe.

His very first line is a response to Jason saying “I don’t belong here.”

Stating “you’re right! We’ve all been framed. I didn’t run away six times and Piper didn’t steel convertible.”

How is running away even comparable to stealing a car?

This makes me believe that Leo did something far worse than just run away either he did something and that’s why he ran away or he ran away to do something.

Or he ran away and did something.

But comparing running away a few times and stealing a car and then giving them the exact same consequence scenes unreasonable to me I think Leo probably did something a lot darker but because this is a kids book it’s not mentioned.

Shortly after being introduced to Leo in the form of this first statement, Jason’s in her monologue goes on to describe Leo as this mischievous, looking boy that the second he looked at him and looked in his eyes. He could tell that he couldn’t trust him with matches and sharp objects.

No one could see this as for shadowing for Leo’s godly parent, being the god of forge and fire.

But I see this as a sign that despite his physique Leo Valdez has this aura of danger.

“crash course for the amnesiac: we go to the wilderness school. Which means we’re bad kids. Your family, or the court, or whoever. Decided you were to much trouble so they sent you off to this lovely prison. Sorry, boarding school.”

The words in the statement from Leo Valdez in chapter 1, give us a valuable clues on the type of environment. Leo Piper and Jason are inside. ��

As if the further emphasize the point that these kids have committed crimes, Jason’s inter monologue says that none of these kids look like a “hard criminals” and he wonders what they could have done to be “sentenced to school for delinquents.”

And again, these are actual lines from the book Leo Valdez canonically is classified legally as a delinquent.

And knowing Leo does not have any family it’s clear that Leo received this as a sentence from a courtroom.

As he himself stated, as we just saw you can be sent to this place not just by parents who think you need a strict or lifestyle, but by the court.

“ he had survived and tough neighborhoods, tough schools, touch foster homes, by using his wits, he was the class clown, the court jester. Because he learned early that if you crack jokes and pretend not to be scared you usually didn’t get beat up. Even the baddest, gangster kids will tolerate you. Keep you around for laughs.”

This quote from the novel also is a clear clue that Leo a dark skinned kid in the United States, grew up, hanging out with delinquents hanging out with kids that were in gangs he literally said gangsters.

Which means he probably got into school fight, street fights, and substance use.

Because that’s what teenagers do in those social groups.

Crimes canonically mentioned that Leo committed:

• truancy; this is when so, and skip school so much that it becomes legal issue.

Ask yourself in United States, with xenophobia and racism, if a Latino 11 to 14 year old boy, who doesn’t have parental supervision is skipping school. What do you think he’s doing?

It’s only mentioned that he committed truancy, which isn’t it hard crime but knowing reality, it’s very probable that Leo has experimented within this timeframe within running away and being arrested for truancy he also committed underage use of substances.

So let’s take a break from the crime dive. Because I’m pretty sure for the rest of Leo’s appearances in the universe it’s not hinted out or mentioned anymore. I think that’s all I have to say, but I might revisit this later.

This is the first inkling of anorexia:

As I mentioned in the beginning of this post anorexia can manifest at any point of someone’s life for a multitude of reasons.

It is usually during development either late childhood to any point in adolescence.

Although it can form adulthood, it’s more common for it to start in developmental stages.

Anorexia is a cycle and for whatever reason you start starving yourself this little bit and then you lose your appetite and your stomach shrinks and you feel less hunger so you eat less and then you struggle to eat a healthy amount.

You may be thinking there’s no way Leo is anorexic because he is self-conscious of how skinny he is.

True.

But I don’t think him himself because he wants to be skinny. I think he does it for one of two reasons and maybe it’s a mix of both maybe they’re both correct or maybe it’s just just one I don’t know.

1- control.

2- punishment.

In chapter 5, we have a chapter from the point of view of Leos for the very first time, and this is when we first learned about how Leo’s mom died he died tragically in the housefire that he started, and even as a 15 year-old, he blames himself, and he sees himself as the person responsible for his mother’s death.

His mother died when he was eight years old obvious this is going to have severe psychological trauma on him, I believe that Leo stopped eating.

Maybe at first he just didn’t wanna eat anything because he was in grief and he couldn’t eat, maybe it was because he didn’t eat his mom didn’t cook Mexican culture love cooking and he just lost the person. He loved the most in life and he couldn’t imagine eating.

But I think he stopped eating as a way to punish himself for killing his mother, and then it spiraled and snowball and got out of control to the point where he’s severely underweight as a fifteen year old.

As for control, we know that he didn’t have control over where he lived, or who took care of him or what school he went too.

His life was flipped upside down as it went into the foster system and he felt powerless. He felt like he had no control and one way of his for dealing with that was running away, but I also feel like he just wouldn’t eat because if maybe if he could control his weight and he can control what he eats then at least he had control over one thing in his life. He didn’t have control over anything else, but at least he had control over what he ate and then that’s snow bolt into the point he got underweight as a teenager.

It’s one of these reasons or a mix of both of these reasons.

I think Leo is somewhat muscular.

He’s always lift up heavy pieces of metal he uses hammers. He knows how to forage. This requires a lot of muscle mass in the arm and abdomen at least but I feel like the reason he gives the scrawny description is because he doesn’t eat enough.

Even at the end of the war with the Giants, eat enough and he was just like oh he doesn’t work out then he would have a lot more muscle mass and he would not be seen as scrawny as we seen with Percy was seen as little kid in the beginning and now he’s very physically muscular because of the war he went through, but that didn’t happen with Leo because I think he’s already muscular. He just never eats therefore he’s not healthy looking.

Chapter 30, Yet another example of Leo allowing himself to be put at the risk of death without hesitation.

Man for Jason to take Piper and fly away from Festus as the dragon Falls, Leo would stay on his dragon and try to fix it. Then he said he couldn’t fix it he would die.

The first time I read this I didn’t think much of it didn’t even remember this thing happened because it seems like just natural reaction to trying to save the ship sacrifice yourself, knowing how the giant war ends and he did kill himself. I think it’s a reasonable assumption that just does not have enough regards for personal safety and probably not taking care of himself.

During the lost hero indicated that part of the reason how Piper Leo invasion survive the quest was that whenever they were hungry, Leo would cook for them.

But did anyone other than me notice that hyper had to ask for Leo to cook every single single time because he never remembered he was never hungry and he would only eat if they were hungry if they told him they were hungry and asked him to cook.

I didn’t find the scene again because I was only reading chapters in Leo’s point of view, but I think it’s in Pipers and this for me the first time I read it was like the first indication that Leo doesn’t have a healthy relationship with food.

Mark of Athena.

The very first time Leo met Hazel first thing he noticed was that she paid a lot of attention to him. And he didn’t like it you can argue that this is because he was so used to not be center of attention, but we all know that Leo craves attention so that wouldn’t make sense. He says that the reason he feels uncomfortable is that she was staring at him through looking at his body, and it made him feel self-conscious.

House of Hades

“ you haven’t eaten in a few days.” Calypso told Leo. And Leo didn’t even notice.

Wikipedia Page.

I read the entire page. Yes. The whole thing.

I never do that.

But I wanted to see if there was any other extra evidence for my theory.

In the early life section there’s a paragraph about the day of the dead, where Leo’s aunt and his cousin who would bully him went to the cemetery. To clean their relatives graves and bring offerings.

I found this quote “Rosa would force him to stay for the picnic, as if eating with dead people would fix his appetite.”

So his family was aware he wasn’t eating.

“Leo woke up in an ambulance, and the paramedic was kind to him, saying that the warehouse had burned down and his mom hadn't made it out. Leo felt hollow, and realized he had lost control like his mom had warned him about.“

This supports my theory that Leo feels a lack of control in his life, which is why he’d result to controlling his food intake.

“He thought her death was his fault” this quote supports my second theory of what triggered his anorexia. Self punishment. In his very core. He believes he was responsible for the person he loved most in life being dead.

“The police wondered what kind of child would've started a fire. His neighbors in the apartment complex gossiped about him, saying they always knew something was wrong with him.” So already at 8 years old he called the attention of the cops and his community as dangerous. And once you’re labeled as dangerous, and dark skinned… there’s only a matter of time until you do and up being caught in the wrong groups.

Something we know from the books, at Leo’s mention of gangs and a school for delinquents… he did exactly that.

“He even had an abusive foster mom, Teresa.” Another common trigger for eating disordered behavior, abusive parental figures. Usually parental figures can say very nasty comments about the child’s body psychologically parents tend to reflect their insecurities and their life and their body onto the bodies of their children. This is very common with biological kids, but I assume it could be possible for a foster child as well.

Your abusive foster parent also means he probably had a strong distrust between him and the foster mom.

Meaning, if he was caught up in a gang while living with her, you would not tell her he could not confide in her.

Having an Abusive mother figure, hold onto the money issues he had from his mother dying. This strongly explains why he stayed in a relationship with fucking calypso!!!

That woman treated him like every second of the relationship and he was fine with it because she was an older woman, and he was treated like shit by women.

Side tangent that does not have to do with anorexia or his crime history.

Did anyone else notice how every single girl Leo’s tempo was much older than him in the entire books series?

• Hazel

• the ice goddess

• calypso

• Thalia

Two out of four of those were mean to him!! Yes mommy issues really bad mommy issues that turned into a mommy kink. He even calls Calypso Mamacita!!!

And he will stay in an abusive relationship as long as he has an older woman who he is as attractive and more dominant

Another paragraph I found was full of little nuggets I found:

“Maenads from Demigod Diaries, indicating that Leo is quite good-looking despite not finding himself attractive” so just further proof that Leo is a pretty boy but has dysmorphia and low self esteem. “Leo has been called 'cute in a scrawny way' by nymphs”

“a diminutive stature with a slim and relatively scrawny build.” Of course we all remember Leo is skinny, hell that’s what this whole theory is about. But I want to point out the word Relatively. Which reminds me of my assumption that since Leo works with heavy metal he has muscle definition but not enough body fat, making him skinny.

“Leo wears a pair of Georgina's overalls during her absence, so they are probably around the same size.”

Oh that probably doesn’t seem like a big deal to you— GEORGINA IS AN EIGHT YEAF OLD LITTLE GIRL AND HE IS A SIXTEEN YEAF OLD BOY!!!!

They should not be the same size!!!!

“He is said to be sensitive about his size and occasionally makes self-deprecating jokes about it.” Dysmorphia, I’ve been telling you guys over and over! He has dysmorphia.

“Superhuman Strength : Being a demigod, Leo is stronger than a regular mortal. However, Leo has many times labeled himself as weak because of his small stature, and is definitely the weakest male demigod of the Seven, indicating that Leo is pretty weak for a demigod. Leo also is extremely skinny and short and doesn't look very strong. However, Leo has been shown to be quite a bit stronger than he looks as he used two silver-tipped blacksmith hammers to smash full-grown monsters that got in his way”

So even though logic would suggest the opposite Leo always thinks of himself, of his body negatively.

There’s so many other examples but I’m tired.

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy pjo #greek mythology #pjo fandom #pjo hoo toa #pjo series #pjo #ancient greek #leonidas valdez #leo valdez

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